


Scarred For Life

by dreamingofsiha



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic, Canon Divergent, Dark, Eventual Smut, F/M, Illusion Magic, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingofsiha/pseuds/dreamingofsiha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We cannot be,” he says weakly. He cannot deny that there is something between them any longer – she cannot just be his <i>falon</i>, nor he hers. He hopes that his weak protest will give her strength to say what he cannot and put an end to the strange thing that exists between them.</p><p>“I know, but I still want to,” she mumbles as she tucks her head under his chin and presses her body against his. He wraps an arm around her, and holds her small body close. </p><p><i>So do I</i>, he thinks, as he waits until her body relaxes and her breathing slows to follow her into sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the magician

**Author's Note:**

> I hated that you couldn't be a blood mage in Inquisition. I'm also a sucker for Female Trevelyan/Solas. This work is the strange love child of that hate and love. You'll either love it or hate it. Sorry either way.

He feels her static energy surround him every time she raises her staff. It's different to Vivienne's and Dorian's; hers is blue and crisp and tastes like the ocean, his is dark and pulsing and tastes like fear. He was told that Evelyn was trained at a circle, but he knows better. Currently maleficar practicing or not, the way her magic leaves a metallic tang on the roof of his mouth and leaves a buzzing in the base of his skull can only mean one thing; she's used it at least once before. That sort of magic always leaves a permanent scar in it's own way.

They speak of it one afternoon, and she calls it 'a means to an end'. There's something that he can only interpret as hope in her eyes. He agrees, and then steers the conversation in a different direction; not because he does not want to question her further, but because he knows that Dorian is most definitely listening a few paces back from the balcony railing above them.

–

He watches her more carefully the next time he is chosen to accompany her. They're in the Western Approach, and it doesn't take long for a small group of White Claws they had somehow missed during their previous trips to make their irritating presence known. He moves to put a barrier up for himself, Evelyn, Dorian, and Iron Bull, but she beats him to it. He gives her a quick nod of thanks in the brief second their eyes meet before they're all in. He slowly rotates in a semi circle until she's at his two o'clock, and he has an unobstructed view of her. Dorian is yelling something at Bull (who has taken front and centre and is making a marvellously bloody mess of the raiders who hopelessly lunge towards him), and Evelyn is grinning at the exchange that she can hear better than he can.

If he weren't watching her so closely, he might have missed the footpad that had managed to sneak up behind her. He conjures ice, and snap freezes the raider before she can drive her daggers into Evelyn's shoulders. The Inquisitor hears the distinct noise and quickly whirls around to slice the raider from hip to hip with her staff blade. The two frozen pieces of the raider fall, and Evelyn smirks at the result.

Bull's roaring brings Solas' attention back to the fight, only to see that it is over. Bull's nudging a fallen raider with his pointy boot and beckoning Dorian over. The Tevinter mage rolls his eyes, but heads over to investigate whatever it is the qunari wants to show him anyway.

“Thanks.” Evelyn says. He looks down at her with wide eyes; it's not the first time he's thought she would have made a roaring success as a rogue if she had not been bestowed with magical power.

“Of course.” He says, and Evelyn's eyes linger on his. Her lips part ever so slightly, but her brows furrow slightly in indication that she had thought better of whatever it was she was going to say.

“Let's head to camp.” Evelyn turns and calls out to Bull and Dorian, who are now crouched in the sand and leaning over the corpse.

“What...?” Evelyn laughs at the sight of the two men's contrasting forms, and begins moving toward them to see what it is that's so interesting about the corpse.

Solas is ashamed to admit he never saw the next footpad coming.

–

They bypass the camp that's close to Griffon Wing Keep completely, and head straight for the fortified tower. Bull runs at an almost impossible pace despite complaining about his ankle giving him grief earlier, and he and Dorian sprint close behind. It must be uncomfortable for Evelyn to be jostled so violently in Bull's arms, but Solas does not hear a single sound of displeasure.

When they get to the gates, Bull's booming voice alerts everyone, and the iron gate is pulled up quickly. Inquisition soldiers mill around them and yell between themselves in order to get a cot cleared in the medical tent for the Inquisitor. Bull turns to the side in order to follow a scout, and Solas frowns at the sheer amount of blood that has covered both the qunari and Evelyn. She tried to scan the surrounding area, but her eyes are half lidded and her head lolls about lazily. She looks too pale.

“Set her down here, ser!” A scout commands, and Bull gets on one knee to place Evelyn on the raised cot. Blood drips from Bull's hands, and the qunari glances down at them just as a mage that Solas vaguely recognises from Redcliffe runs past him and towards Evelyn with a wooden box of what Solas assumes contains lyrium and medical supplies. When the mage opens the box on the wooden table next to her cot and pulls out the blue vial, Evelyn screams.

“No! No!” She starts thrashing about so wildly that she knocks the vial straight out of the mage's hands. She looks to the Inquisitor's companions in shock. Solas hastily moves forward, and grabs one of Evelyn's flailing hands. Bull takes the other, and Dorian positions himself at the end of the cot. She stills, and looks at a spot somewhere over Solas' shoulder, and her mouth twists into a snarl.

“You won't have me. Not even for a thousand vials. Not even... not even for a thousand years.”

She spits the words out, and then she passes out.

–

Solas is aware of the dangers of blood magic. Everyone in Thedas is; and even though some are utterly ridiculous in their misunderstandings of it, most of the reasons people have against it are valid. He'd indulged in it a few times when he was younger; mostly for the thrill of it and to see what would happen. He'd been visited by a demon in the days after using it only once, and he had laughed in it's face. The demon was foolish to come at a time when he already had everything he could possibly want.

Judging by Evelyn's hallucination (he's still not sure if it was a hallucination, or if she had half slipped into the fade and had actually seen a demon), she'd been visited by a demon more than once. That worries him.

“Soup?” Dorian asks as he pokes his head into the Inquisitor's tent.

“No, thank you.” Solas declines politely. He can never quite work up an appetite somewhere so hot. It's almost the middle of the night, and he's still sweating. He's gone through almost three flasks of water in the last two hours.

“How is she?” The Tevinter asks as he casts a cautious glance towards Evelyn's sleeping form. He looks back to Solas as if asking permission. Solas gives him a half smile and tilts his head towards her. Dorian quietly steps into the tent and almost tip toes up to her bedside. His manicured brows lower as he regards his injured friend.

“She will be alright. The blades went in just under her lungs and thankfully didn't rupture anything important. I've mended the muscle and skin as best as I can, and with rest for a few days she will recover well.” Solas informs him. Dorian breathes a sigh of relief, then gently strokes her cheek with his thumb a few times before leaning down to give her a kiss on her forehead. He mutters something under his breath to her, and Solas says nothing; pretends he doesn't understand Tevene. He's seen the looks of distrust they give him every time he says he's learnt something from the fade, and doesn't want to push luck that's already running out.

_Wake up soon, my beautiful friend. I have much to tell you about Bull and I. I know you're a whore for the gossip as much as I am._

“Do inform me if she wakes.” Dorian asks. Solas nods, and the other mage leaves again. Solas watches the slow rise and fall of her chest for a few moments before dabbing at his brow with the sleeve of his thin cotton shirt.

Thankfully, Dorian had not asked about the words she had spoken before she passed out.

–

Somehow, Solas manages to fall asleep. When he wakes, he lets out a small grunt at the awkward angle he has slid down into in his chair and the way his shirt is sticking to his back. He stretches out his arms and back, then looks toward the cot. He shoots out of the tent and glances around the keep. There are a couple of scouts sitting by the fire, muttering to each other quietly in the late hour, and another two stationed by the gate.

“Where is the Inquisitor?” The volume of his voice startles all four scouts. Once they're over the fright, they frown at him in confusion.

“Sorry, ser? Isn't she in the tent with you?” An unmarked elf by the gate asks. He almost growls.

“If she was in the tent with me, I would not be asking _you_ where she was.” He says as evenly as he can manage. An uncomfortable silence follows.

“Have you seen her?” Solas questions again. The elf at the gate straightens.

“No, ser. I've been stationed here since you went into the tent to keep watch over the Inquisitor. The only person to leave the tent was you. You said the Inquisitor was not to be disturbed whilst you ran an errand. Come to think of it, how did you get back in, ser?”

Solas freezes.

“What did you just say?”

The scouts exchange nervous glances.

“Open the gate. _Now._ ” Solas commands, and the scouts rush to pull the lever. Solas rushes back into the tent and slings his staff and it's harness across his shoulder and around his body.

“Should we inform Rylen that the Inquisitor is missing, ser?”

“No. Keep this to yourself until I return.” Solas growls as he exits the keep. He makes it halfway to the Inquisition field camp nearby before he realises he has no clue where he's going. He spins around in a circle; desperate for any sight of her. His eyes can see well in the dark, but he worries she has taken a misstep and tumbled over the edge of the cliff. He inhales deeply; but only sand and dust fills his nostrils. He swears under his breath. How could he have been so foolish? How could she have been so foolish, working magic of illusion so openly like that? He can imagine what the Bull would say if he knew that she was practising such things. He knows what Dorian would say, too; he'd be intrigued and demand to be taught (if the mage didn't already know – they taught many a questionable thing in Tevinter, even by Solas' standards).

“Evelyn!” He hisses into the arid night. A coyote howl answers him in the distance. He continues forward; cursing the many small animals that inhabit the Approach that scurry around at night and ruin any possible footprints in the sand that he could follow.

“Ser?” A small voice makes him spin towards the ledge. A small elven woman is standing right on the edge, and even in the darkness he can see the bloodstains that mar her clothing.

“Da'len, are you alright?” Solas asks gently, but he's already conjuring fire in the fist clenched behind his back. There's something about her that looks familiar, but he can't quite place his finger on what. The elven woman tilts her head forward, then looks up at him slowly. Her lips pull into a toothy grin, and by the time Solas looks back up to her eyes, he's staring at Evelyn.

“I am _not_ amused.” Solas snarls as he strides towards her. She skips forward until she's standing right in front of him. She grins up at him as if she's proud that she has been found out. He thinks that maybe she is.

“You should not attempt such tricks with so many watchful eyes around.” He speaks low as she walks in a circle around him. Like him, she is barefoot. Her clothes are no longer bloody, and he expects that there is no longer two gaping wounds beneath her ribs.

“The watchful eyes do not even know what they are seeing.” She half purrs as she completes the circle and returns to the spot in front of him.

“Many are blind to illusion magic. Most mages cannot even spot it.” Solas realises his mistake before he can stop the words from coming out. The longevity of his life has not made him completely immune to embarrassment.

“ _You_ couldn't spot it.” She grins as she gently pokes a finger into the center of his chest. She looks up at him as she drags it down to the waistband of his pants. He frowns; unsure of what exactly it is she's trying to accomplish.

“I was unaware that you could perform such things.” He says weakly. She drops her hand back to her side and rolls her eyes.

“That's a lie. I know that you know about... some of the things I can do.”

“Ah.” He says simply; not quite a denial, but not quite a confirmation either. He wonders how much she will give up without being pressed. He also wonders how long she has been practising her tricks for; it's been months since the Seeker declared the Inquisition into existence.

“I guess we both have secrets. Some more well kept than others, no?”

She moves past him, and shuffles back to the keep. He follows her, but stays behind a few metres as he ponders what she's implying. He tries to ignore the mental image of her with thin, pointed ears.

–

The Inquisition scouts look anywhere but at them when they return, and Solas is thankful. When they return to the tent, Evelyn pulls her shirt over her head and climbs onto the cot, then reaches for something between the cot and the tent wall. He watches as she pulls a bloody bandage out from the small space and begins wrapping it around herself; just under her breast band and down to her hips like she was bandaged before. Solas isn't surprised to see that there is barely any scarring.

“Illusion, or maleficar?” He asks. She freezes. Slowly, she turns her head to glance at him over her shoulder.

“You of all people should know that there are more forms of magic that can be utilised.” She replies quietly. _You of all people?_

“Indeed I do. None of those forms are taught amongst Circles, however.” He catches a slight frown on her thin brows before she turns her head away from him.

“The Circle didn't teach me what I know. They hardly taught me _anything_ useful, except to not make a sound for days on end.” She says with a bitter tone.

“Then who-” _or what_ , he thinks but doesn't say, “-did?”

She doesn't reply until she's finished wrapping her bandage, and even then she doesn't turn back to face him.

“You're not the only one that counts spirits as friends.” She replies, and for once, he is lost for words.

“And what about the demons that try to tempt you? How often do they come?” He managed eventually. She pretends she didn't hear him.

“Go and tell Dorian I'm awake, will you? And make sure to knock, unless you're into that sort of thing.” She says as she arranges herself back onto the cot. Her face immediately looks gaunt and tired, and suddenly he's unsure if he's ever seen what she truly looks like.

Solas nods dumbly and leaves, because he has too many questions to be able to form another one.

He's not easily unsettled, but the realisation that he knows hardly anything about her and that she seems to know _something_ about him chills the sweat on his skin.


	2. temperance

The thirteen day journey back to Skyhold from the Western Approach is driving him mad. Bull and Dorian have insisted on fussing over her every evening when they stop to give the horses and carriage drivers a break, and she has managed to deter them every night. But oh, how they've _tried._

“Don't- _ow!_ ” Evelyn squeals as Dorian manages to grip a corner of the bandage that peeks out from just under the soft, knitted jumper that an elderly woman from Emprise Du Lion gave her a month or so back in thanks for finding her ring. Solas raises a brow at the situation unfolding before him.

“Don't be silly, Evelyn. I might be a necromancer, but I can do some things with _live_ bodies too, you know.” The Tevinter insists. Bull makes a snarky comment under his breath, and Dorian juts his elbow back into one of the qunari's giant pecs. The horned man slaps his hand over the point of impact and gives Dorian an exaggerated look of pain. Evelyn takes the moment to shove her jumper back down.

“I'm sure you can, Dorian, but I'm fine, honestly. I just want to lay here and relax. The bandages don't need to be changed until the morning, and it's getting colder the closer we get back to Skyhold. I don't really want to risk catching a cold too. Right, Solas?” He nods as three pairs of eyes focus on him. Dorian gives him a doubtful look before turning back to glare at Evelyn.

“Oh, fine. I know when I'm not wanted.” Dorian tilts his chin in the air, then glances down to give Evelyn a wink. She grins up at him and playfully swats him away.

“Go on. You two go back to your caravan.” Evelyn says as she slides down further onto the small makeshift bed.

“If you insist!” Bull says as he practically throws Dorian out of the carriage.

“Let Marrick and the others know that we're ready to get going again if he is!” Evelyn calls after them. It only takes a few seconds for the horses ahead to get moving again; the carriage driver's toilet break was brief, but long enough to make Bull and Dorian bored and feel the need to hassle the Inquisitor.

“That was close.” Evelyn sighs as she lays flat on her back and pulls the thick blanket up over her body and up to her chin. Solas hums in agreement as he settles into his own bed. The carriage is bumpy and rattles with every inch it moves forward, but it's not the worst place he's had to sleep. In fact, if you try and find rhythm in the noises, it's almost relaxing. _Almost._

A long pause stretches on; which is filled only by the sound of Bull and Dorian talking to one of the carriage drivers beside their own. Solas sighs and longs for a brief moment where the qunari and Tevinter do not feel the need to fill silence with idle chatter. He closes his eyes and tries to relax his body. Evelyn begins to fidget. He sighs again. He had endured almost two weeks of this, and he's not sure that he can take any more.

“Evelyn.” He says sternly. She stills.

“Sorry.” She whispers in reply. The silence only lasts for a few minutes before he hears the sound of her kicking her blanket off and huffing in irritation.

“ _Evelyn!_ ” He hisses when a pillow is flung off of her bed and onto his.

“I can't sleep!” She whines.

“Neither can I!” Solas says a little louder than intended as he sits up and glares at her. She ducks her gaze away from his in the candlelight.

“Sorry about this.” She mumbles. Solas nods and swings his legs over the side of his bed. He supposes he's not that tired, anyway. He's usually up much later in the night at Skyhold painting or reading.

“Would you like to have a game?” He asks as he gestures to the chessboard on the small table between their beds. She sits up and runs a hand through her tousled hair as she glances at the board.

“Yeah, alright.” She says. The corner of her mouth quirks up as she moves the pillows out of the way to sit cross-legged at the top of the bed beside the small table. Solas does the same. She picks out the black pieces and leaves the white for Solas. She nods at him, and he makes the first move. They play on for a few minutes in silence, until Evelyn speaks.

“You haven't asked me many questions.” She glances up at him quickly before moving a piece on the board.

“In fact, you haven't said much to me at all. Have I offended you?” She asks. Solas holds her gaze in his.

“Offended? Why would I be offended?” He mutters in reply. The voices outside have quietened, which means they need to be quieter too.

“I thought you'd be offended at my... misuse of magic.” Her voice drops into a whisper. Solas can't help but smile at her. Misuse of magic? Like _he_ could be one to judge such a thing.

“Not at all. I am intrigued about the details, however that is your business. I do not like to pry into things unless the information is offered.” He moves his queen towards her king. She watches his face, and not the board. It makes him feel... exposed.

“You've done blood magic before.” She states, doesn't question.

“I have. Only a few times in my youth. It did not appeal to me much, to be honest.” It doesn't cost Solas anything to admit that, so he will.

“Hmmm.” She says as she averts her king from his queen's reign.

“Hmmm?” He repeats. She tilts her head back and watches him as her fingers pick at the hem of her baggy pyjama pants.

“It's not something I partake in often. Just so you know. I'm sure that you're aware that there are many forms of blood magic, not just the blood magic that everyone's so shit scared of around Thedas.” Her voice is a low hum and she leans over the board slightly so she can avoid speaking in more than a whisper.

“I am aware of that, yes.” Solas replies. He watches her; she bites her lip and looks like she wants to say more. He's surprised to find he wants her to; he's rather intrigued by the logistics of how she's managed to get away with blood and illusion magic without anyone noticing (he knows that no one has noticed, because if they had, she'd have a brand on her forehead). They continue their game in silence.

“I wonder about your youth.” She says just as he's about to win the game. His hand stills mid-air with the two pieces in his hand. They hold eye contact for a moment.

“As I wonder about yours.”

–

Wonder they might, but neither questioned during the next game of chess. Evelyn grins at him after her win, then yawns and calls it a night.

“Thanks. I'm tired now.” She says as she slowly resets the pieces back to where they are supposed to be. The caravan rolls into a hole, and they all topple over. Evelyn curses, and Solas shoots out a hand to catch a piece that is about to roll off of the night stand Evelyn does the same, and their hands smack together awkwardly. He snatches his hand back reflexively.

“Maker's _balls_ , Solas. Your hands feel like ice. If you need another blanket, you only need ask. I've got a tonne over here.” Evelyn says. She's avoiding his eyes, and Solas suddenly doesn't know where to look either. He decides to look at the floor and spots the piece that ended up falling due to their combined clumsiness. He leans down to pick it up, just as she does. They bump heads. Hard. Evelyn groans and falls back onto her bed; moaning and holding her forehead dramatically.

“Think you could grow some hair up there to cushion the impact next time, old man?” Solas chuckles as he rubs his own forehead.

“I think you will be fine as long as you stay over there.” He says. She lifts her hand up to glance at him with one make-up smudged eye which narrows when it spots him.

“Oh? And what would happen if I were to come over there?” She asks. Solas chuckles as he lays down.

“I imagine we'd need more than blood magic to heal the injuries sustained.”

There's a lengthy silence, and he thinks she's fallen asleep until she props herself up onto her elbow and blows out the candles that are set down beside the chessboard. It's only when she unceremoniously throws a blanket onto him and rolls onto her side to face away from him that he realises she was trying to flirt with him.

–

Late in the day of the next afternoon, Skyhold comes into view from the small window that gives them a view of the scenery ahead between the two horses.

“I can't wait to get back in front of a fire.” Evelyn comments as she brushes her hair from her sitting position on her bed.

“A warm fire has indeed been missed.” Solas agrees as he pulls on a boot. He usually forgoes shoes in Skyhold – he keeps the rotunda meticulously clean, but the walk up to the rotunda can be quite muddy. Evelyn hasn't been short with him at all, and he's starting to think that maybe he misunderstood her intentions the previous night. He pulls on his other boot and realises that she's watching him.

“You're going to have to see to my bandages.”

He looks up and raises an eyebrow.

“Pardon?”

“Bull and Dorian saw the wounds when they happened. They know it would still be tender, even with the supposed salves and healing magic you've been putting on it. You have to discourage anyone else from trying to look at me.” Her expression is pleading.

“I believe you can dissuade people from trying to fuss over you, can you not?”

Evelyn snorts.

“ _Please_. Have you seen the way everyone fusses over me like I'm made of glass? I tripped over a rock in the garden the other day and I think Mother Giselle almost swore on Andraste's tits. Just give me a speech about proper scar care when everyone's listening. Mention a high risk of infection, or something. They'll believe it if it's coming from you.”

Solas knows that there is indeed a lot people will believe if it comes from him.

“Alright.” Solas agrees with a slight nod.

“Thank you.” Evelyn breathes a sigh of relief and begins braiding her hair into a thick plait that she nudges over her shoulder.

“Almost there!” Bull's voice booms from the carriage beside theirs.

–

“No. This will not do. We will be attending the ball next week. We cannot have her even remotely incapable of moving on her own. As much as I loathe to admit this, it is too important an even to miss.” Cassandra says, and Solas can see the exact moment that Evelyn starts to regret walking into Skyhold with a slight hunch.

“Solas, will you tend to her? I would, however my fingers are not suited to the task.” Cassandra holds her hands out to show him the myriad of cuts and bruises across her knuckles and fingers.

“I'm fine, honestly, it's just a little sore after walking up all of those ste-”

“Inquisitor, _please_. Solas, please put together a list of things that you and the Inquisitor may need. I think it's best if you stay with her despite your opinion for the evening just to make sure she settles in well. I'll have dinner sent to your quarters for both of you.” Josephine says. She pulls a page from her pad and hands it to Solas, along with a quill that she pulls from somewhere in her dress.

“I-” He says as the Antivan woman presses the stationary against his chest. He glances at Evelyn, who looks extremely pale.

“You look very pale, Inquisitor. Are you feeling alright?” Leliana asks as she gently presses the back of her hand to Evelyn's forehead. The Inquisitor winces; the spy-master has no doubt pressed on the tender area from their head-butt the previous night.

“I'm fine.” She squeaks as Leliana ignores her and herds them out of the antechamber, into the main hall, and towards Evelyn's quarters.

–

Solas has never been in her quarters before. He was irritated when Leliana forced him into them (there are a thousand things he needs to do in the rotunda, and he's been aching to finish a particular panel of the fresco), but he feels himself relax when he notices just how quiet it is. There's no constant thoroughfare, no Dorian screeching about who knows what, and no birds squawking above him (sometimes he's unsure where the birds end and Dorian begins, if he's being honest).

“Sorry about this.” Evelyn apologises again as she sits on the grand thick fur rug in front of her fireplace. Solas sighs and shakes his head.

“It is only for one evening. I am sure we can manage.” Evelyn averts her eyes back to the fireplace and pats the spot next to her on the rug. He wanders over to her, and slides off his boots before relaxing cross legged beside her. He closes his eyes and lets the heat from the fire thaw him out. He usually runs hot, but he hasn't been able to shake the chill that's managed to seep it's way into his bones.

“How did your parents react when they found out you had magic? Did they have it too?”

Solas straightens as he quickly tries to think of a response.

“They were not surprised, and did not react negatively. Magic was common in my family.”

“Was?” She asks. He clears his throat.

“I have not seen them for many years.” He does not specify how many.

“Oh.” She's seemingly satisfied, but casts him a sidelong glance nonetheless.

“And what about you?” He asks. Her brows dip ever so briefly.

“I was nine when my magic first manifested. Nobody found out until I was thirteen.” Solas' brows raise high on his forehead.

“You kept it hidden for four _years?_ ” He can barely believe it; most mages' magic burns down the family home or kills the family pet upon the first manifestation. For a shem to keep it a secret for so long is... he's not sure if he's impressed or shocked. Clearly, the templars aren't as good as they think they are.

“Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?” She narrows her eyes slightly, and Solas apologises.

“I did not mean to cause offence, it's only I've heard many terrible stories about human mage's first times.” Evelyn's lips turn up into a smirk at his phrasing.

“That is not what I meant.” He adds. Her grin grows wider.

“Tell me of your first... of the first time your magic appeared.” He corrects himself mid-sentence before she can make fun of him.

“Well. I was nine, as I said. I was playing hide and seek around our home with two of my cousins and a few of the other kids from around the neighbourhood. Our parents didn't know, but we'd made bets on who would win with what little pocket money we had managed to accrue from doing chores for our parents. Anyway, It was down to me and two others out of the six of us. My cousin Samuel and one of the neighbourhood girls, Verity. I heard her find Sam, and then I knew she was coming for me. She was getting closer and closer, and I didn't want to lose. All I remember is thinking about how much sweeping and dusting and laundry I had done for the coin I had put in to the bet, and then when she opened the door to the closet I was hiding in, she quickly closed it again and walked off. I was... confused. She had to have seen me, right? So I opened the closet door and went to speak, and that's when she started screaming. Turns out I'd made myself invisible, and she'd thought that a ghost had opened the closet. Everyone came running – including my parents, and they all ran straight past me. I was yelling at them that I was right there, but nobody could hear or see me. I ran out of the house and down the street to the park, and I sat there for hours and cried. I didn't know what was happening, or how to fix it.” Evelyn explained as she plucked at the fur underneath her legs.

“What happened after that?” Solas encouraged. A child starting off with such a power was intriguing indeed. A human starting off with such power was even _more_ intriguing.

“Eventually, I wandered back to the house. I missed my parents, and it was getting dark. When I got back, they were all so relieved, and I was relieved that they could see me again – I thought I was going to be invisible forever. When they asked where I had been, I said hiding. I earnt thirty silvers that day, and they crowned me the champion of hide and seek. Luckily, my parents were too happy for me to be home to be mad at me.” Evelyn tilted her head back and laughed.

“I imagine thirty silvers for a nine year old was very impressive.” Solas said as he stretched out his legs. The warmth on the soles of his feet was absolutely heavenly.

“Oh, yes. I've still got it in a porcelain nug sculpture back home. I could never bring myself to spend it.” Evelyn smiled wistfully at the memory. They shared a smile, then lapsed into a comfortable silence for a while. It seemed an easy thing to do in her presence.

“What about you?” She asked as she leant back onto the palms of her hands.

“I was of a similar age. The candle in my room was blown out by the wind from an open window, so I got angry, got up, and shot the candle with a fireball. I could never sleep without a candle on when I was a child.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow.

“... Really?”

Solas chuckled.

“Really.”

“Wow. Well, that's... actually kind of what I expected from you. Always calm, cool, and collected. I bet you didn't even bat an eyelid.” Evelyn teased. Solas snorted.

“I was raised with different opinions about magic than you were. There was no circle to fear. Magic practice was encouraged, as was it's study. I did not see the powers as a big deal at the time.”

“That must have been nice.” Evelyn said as she turned back to face the fire. The warm, flickering light cast flattering shadows across her high cheekbones.

“And what of the time when you were found out?” Solas dared to ask. She swallowed and took a few moments before answering.

“I was somewhere that I shouldn't have been, and I hurt someone.” _Ah_. He doesn't know whether to press her further or leave it at that.

“He... uh, my friend, ended up alright, but I... I'd just gotten too excited, and _boom_ -” she holds her fist in the air and then opens it quickly to accompany the noise, “- the curtains are on fire, and then the room is on fire. It was just as much of a shock for me as it was for for my friend. I'd never conjured any destructive magic before. I couldn't make up an excuse for that as easily as the hide and seek, not when I was standing in the middle of the street in my smalls with half of my hair singed off.”

Solas nods in understanding.

“It is easy for magic to happen during romantic situations.” He says softly, and he's certain that she blushes. He mentally berates himself; he should be more careful of his words, lest she think he is returning her advances. He's not a blind fool; he knows that she's beautiful, but he would never be involved with a human. He's long past his days of experimentation and his youth, and she is not.

“Um. Yeah.” She agrees quietly.

“Inquisitor? May we come up?” A feminine voice calls from the door to her quarters after a few loud knocks.

“Yes!” She calls back to the servant. A young human and young elf woman appear at the the top of the stairs with numerous trays of food.

“Lady Leliana said you and Ser Solas were to be fed well.” The human girl says with a slight bow. Solas eyes a wobbling bowl wearily.

“Of course. You may set it down here, if you like. In front of the fire is as good a place as any to dine.” Evelyn says politely. The servants gently place the trays down in front of them. Evelyn thanks them, and they leave just as quickly as they came. They each take a plate and help themselves to the assortment of food (Solas squeezes six frilly cakes onto his plate beside his hot food), then eat. Solas thinks about her story, and wonders what happened to the lover in it. When he has only one cake left, he questions her.

“Your... friend, from your story. Do you still speak with him?” He isn't usually interested in people's personal lives, but he saw in her expression as she retold him the experience that there was a softness in her heart not for the memory, but the person in it. She places her bowl back down on one of the trays and finishes a mouthful of food before answering.

“I... no. I often wonder what happened to him. I was sent to the circle not long after, and when I returned home for the summer, he was no longer...” She trails off and turns her head slightly so he cannot see her expression.

“He was no longer at the alienage when I returned.”

Solas almost chokes on a cake.

“Are you alright?” Evelyn asks with wide eyes as she watches him cough violently. Solas splutters dramatically in reply. Her hand comes down hard on his back, and keeps hitting against him until he's no longer choking.

“Apologies. Something went down the wrong way.” He means that in more ways than one. His fascination with her is supposed to start and finish with the mark; but now he cannot think of anything else but her with an elven boy. He places his empty plate on a tray, and picks it up as he stands.

“Excuse me, Inquisitor. I really have a lot to do. I will speak to Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra and tell them you are asleep. Good night.” He dips his head before leaving.

He doesn't sleep that night. He thinks that her hurt expression at his abrupt departure may be burnt into the back of his eyelids permanently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am enjoying writing it :)


	3. the hierophant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the dress I have in mind for Evelyn in this chapter: http://lyriumlovesong.tumblr.com/post/128640161591/evelyns-dress-for-chapter-three-of-scarred-for

He was correct in his assumption that she would avoid him. He hardly even caught a minute glimpse of her in the days leading up to Halamshiral, which is why he's extremely surprised when Blackwall comes to tell him that she's chosen him to be in her inner circle for the event.

“Vivienne wants to see you in the war room to get you fitted for a dress tunic and make any alterations to your Inquisition tunic. Watch out, she's cranky. Her tailor arrived three days late. Make sure you stay as still as a statue, lest she use you as a pincushion.” Blackwall winces at him before leaving. He puts down his tome and strolls at a leisurely pace towards the war room.

“Rabbit? Rabbit?” Solas doesn't pause even though he knows that the Orlesian woman was trying to get his attention. It's not the first time he'd been confused for a slave by the nobles; usually they get the hint if he just ignores them.

“Does he look like a fucking _slave_ to you?”

He stops and turns.

“Oh! Uh... er... no, my lady.” The pompous woman stammers under Evelyn's ire. The Inquisitor quite a short woman, but the look on her face was enough to scare even the Bull.

“Apologise. Now.” Evelyn snarls, and Solas sees the noble's eyes widen behind her mask.

“That will not be neces-”

“Yes. It will be.” Evelyn interrupts Solas' attempt at diffusing the situation. It's a pitiful attempt; everyone in the main hall is now staring.

“Inquisitor, I am sorry. I did not mean offence.” Deep crimson radiates out across the woman's cheeks and peeks out under the edges of her ornate silver mask.

“I don't want your snivelling apology. Apologise to Solas.” Evelyn's voice is low and laced with a thinly veiled threat when she speaks. The noble woman swallows and turns to look at Solas. He doubts that the entitled woman has had to ever apologise for anything in her life.

“Solas, I am very sorry for assuming you were a slave. Please accept my apology.” As far as apologies from Orlesians go, that one sounded _almost_ genuine.

“Good. I will have you know that no one I employ is here against their will. I believe the concept of slavery to be absolutely shameful. Now get out.” Evelyn orders. Numerous gasps sound around the room at her bluntness.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine questions as she appears in the doorway to her antechamber and glances around at the swell of people. When Evelyn turns to the Antivan woman, her smile is sickly sweet and most definitely forced.

“I would like transport arranged for this woman and whoever came with her to take them back to where they came from. Now, if you will.” Despite the ambassador's finesse in these matters, she can't help the slight raise of her brows.

“Inquisitor?”

“Now, please Josephine. I will not tolerate such disrespect in my home.” Evelyn speaks slowly, and Solas knows it's because she's trying very hard to restrain herself from strangling the noble woman. Small circle mage or not, Cassandra and Dorian had been letting her train with them since they reached Skyhold, and he had no doubt that she could strangle the woman with a single had if she so desired.

“Of... of course, Inquisitor. Lady Jalana, please, this way. I will escort you back to your room.” Josephine gestures to the main entrance of the great hall with a sweep of her arm. Lady Jalana's mouth drops open in scandal, but she says nothing.

“Now.” Evelyn barked, and the woman hastily rushes after Josephine. Evelyn stands with her arms folded and watches until Josephine and the noble woman are out of sight before turning to speak to the crowd before her.

“If anyone else feels the need to use such disrespectful terms to refer to any of the elven servants around here, rest assured, you will have your moment too. In fact, if I hear of any more disrespect to anyone who is not human and from Orlais and lives in a giant _fucking_ house in the middle of Val Royeaux, you'll find yourself outside the gates on your asses quicker than you can say petit fours. Solas, if you will.” Evelyn gestures towards the war room, and Solas nods. Bystanding nobles part in awe as they pass; the only sound in the room the constant click of Evelyn's bloodstone boot heel. When they reach the antechamber, Evelyn turns and closes the door behind them. She sighs, and leans back against it. Solas casts her a glance over his shoulder.

“That was not necessary.” He says softly. She frowns at him.

“Maybe not, but it felt really good.” She grins, and Solas shakes his head even though a small smile forms on his lips.

“Come on. Vivienne ordered you a dress tunic for the ball and I've got to get my Inquisition tunic and a new dress checked over.”

Solas realises he must have made a face, because Evelyn laughs and pats his forearm.

“You'll be fine. Just stand there and agree with her. She'll be easier on you than she was on Blackwall.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Solas says with not a whole lot of confidence. Evelyn grins, and they walk towards the war room together. When they reach the giant doors, Solas turns to her.

“I didn't know that you could speak Orlesian.” He says. She shrugs her shoulders.

“I don't. I only know the swear words and the names for those amazing little cakes.”

–

Solas is thankful that Vivienne has had the good sense to put a thick black sheet up as a divider between him and Evelyn as he undresses down to his smalls. As soon as he is ready, Vivienne's tailor starts manoeuvring him into odd positions to put some clothing on him. Vivienne looks somewhere off to the left of him and taps her foot impatiently as she waits for Evelyn to be ready. Apparently, she does not like to change in front of others either.

“I'm done.” Evelyn calls after a few moments.

“Excellent work, my darling Isabella. I'll be back in a moment.” Vivienne says to the young girl before him, who beams back at her before returning to Solas.

“Do you like this one better than the others, Inquisitor?”

Solas can hear the strain in Vivienne's voice, and he wonders how many 'others' there may have been.

There is a long pause.

“I do, but... do you not think it a bit... _breasty?_ I mean you pull off the low cut look beautifully, Vivienne, but I... I'm uh... I'm severely lacking in that area.” Solas squeezes his eyes shut, and the tailor apologises to him with the impression that she has hurt him with the pins.

“My dear, you are not lacking in any department, except your self esteem. You've got a lovely figure and complexion, and the dress fits you beautifully. If you are set on something less low cut, I can have Rahna or Isabella fashion you a shawl? Keep in mind that there will be plenty of beautiful jewels on your neck, too.”

“No, that won't be necessary. I'll just... this one will do. I won't be wearing it for long, will I? Just for the introduction to Celene?” There's a slight tinge of nerves in Evelyn's voice.

“And for the after party, of course!”

There's a long moment of consideration.

“Let's go with the shawl. I worry I will freeze whatever tits I have off at the Winter Palace.” Solas snorts, and immediately covers his mouth when it comes out louder than expected. The tailor at his feet accidentally jabs him in the ankle with a pin, and he inhales sharply.

“Thanks for your support, Solas!” Evelyn calls out sarcastically.

“Ignore him, my dear. He does not know of these things. Cut-outs, florals, and fringes are going to be all of the rage after everyone sees you wearing them, and thank the Maker for that – it's about time everyone got out of those hideous puffy sleeves and boofy skirts.” Vivienne mutters. Solas opens his eyes so he can roll them. He knows a lot more about _these things_ than the Madam would think.

Evelyn sighs.

“Alright, Vivienne. Lay the jewels on me.”

There's an extended sound of metal against metal as Vivienne rummages through what Solas assumes is a jewelry box.

“Gold, silver, or rose gold, my dear?”

“Silver. I think we should go with cool colours, like the dress.” Evelyn answers without missing a beat. Vivienne makes a noise of approval.

“Yes, no, adjust the clasp, Rahna. Pull it up slightly so it sits just in the middle of her collarbones.” Vivienne orders Evelyn's tailor.

“And the shoes, my darling. Strappy and whimsical, just as your dress is.”

“They're beautiful, but I don't imagine they'll feel beautiful after a couple of hours.”

Vivienne laughs at Evelyn's observation.

“Of course not, darling. Starting a new trend never feels comfortable. Regardless, I'm sure you'll do your best.” Evelyn lets out an uncertain laugh.

“Will this do, my lady?” The tailor asks from behind the curtain.

“Yes, excellent work on the waist. What a positively glorious body you hide under that armour, Evelyn!” Vivienne compliments.

“Oh, I- I... uh...” Evelyn doesn't finish before Vivienne moves around to Solas' side.

“Strapping.” She comments without any real feeling as she appraises him in his tunic. Not that Solas cares; if she had seen him in his younger days, she may well have just fainted at the luxurious clothing.

“Is he dressed? Can I see?” Evelyn asks. Vivienne raises one eyebrow in question at Solas, and he reluctantly nods. He's not sure how the tunic will look to her, but the soft black material and silver and sapphire accents looks aesthetically pleasing from the view that he has.

“Yes, my dear.”

There's a couple of loud thunks, and Vivienne glances around the sheet with a look of concern.

“I'm fine!” Evelyn reassures.

He's not prepared for the sight that affronts him when she sidles around the sheet and stands beside Vivienne.

“Careful of your brows, dear, you don't want to add any more wrinkles to your forehead.” Vivienne says to let Solas know he's staring.

“Apologies. You look... extravagant.” He says with a smile and a small bow. Extravagant doesn't seem like enough of a word, but he thinks it will suffice. She looks tall and lean, and her pale skin only compliments the cool colours of her sheer gown. Even though she isn't wearing much make-up and has her hair tied back into a messy braid, she looks stunning. He's not afraid to give compliments where compliments are due, but he's concerned that maybe he thinks she's _too_ stunning.

“What do you think of the back? Is it too much?” She asks as she pulls her braid over her shoulder and turns around. The dress is cut in a deep v exactly the same as the front, and frames her toned back and shoulders elegantly.

“It is just enough, Inquisitor.” He says.

No, it's definitely _too_ much.

–

He's uncomfortable with the way the grey warden's eyes keep flitting over her form as they gather just outside the Winter Palace. Sera's looking too. Cullen is furiously blushing and looking everywhere but at Evelyn, which indicates he wants to look at her just as much as Blackwall is. In fact, everyone is looking, even Cole, who seems to be enamoured with the silken tassels that are layered in waves down to the floor. He crouches down and runs his fingers through them. Evelyn looks down, and smiles as she threads her fingers through his hair and strokes the top of his head.

“Vivienne, why don't I have any shimmering tassels on my tunic?” He asks innocently.

“Because you are not to be noticed.” Vivienne replies monotonously before turning to speak with Cassandra.

“ _Ouch_. Even _I_ thought that was a bit cold, yeah?” Sera says as she rubs her bare forearms. She's in a white dress that features intricate silver filigree, and Solas still can't believe that the rogue agreed to be put in such a garment. He has no doubt that there was at least a little bit of kicking and screaming.

“Don't worry about it, kid.” Varric says as he pats one of Cole's shoulders.

“I don't.” Cole says happily just before he vanishes. They chatter amongst themselves for a while, and Solas watches as Blackwall leans down to speak quietly to Evelyn. She smiles, and leans into him. She laughs and blushes at whatever he's said to her, and Solas feels his stomach tighten. He looks away when Evelyn touches his arm and rocks onto the toes of her heels to whisper something back.

He should not be feeling this way. He'd rejected her attempt at an advance, and she had made no more; clearly she had taken the hint. She's not elvhen, and he's never looked at a human woman twice as long as he has lived. Why then, does he want to strangle the warden and the commander and everyone else ogling her?

–

He's not shocked when Cole appears beside him after the Empress is saved.

“No.” He says pre-emptively. Cole lingers, but doesn't speak; and he knows that the spirit is listening to his thoughts.

_We do not speak of these things aloud, Cole. You know that._

“It would hurt less if you did. Holding it inside like a tightly wound ball of twine, ne-”

“ _Stop_.” He orders. Cole sways in his peripheral vision for a moment before he vanishes.

“Ev's finished talking with them stuck up whatsits, they're all gonna make a speech.” Sera slurs from the doorway to the balcony. Solas glances at her over his shoulder. She grins at him, and waves her bottle of what he assumes to be very expensive wine at him before popping back into the grand ballroom.

It had been a bloody evening, and he's positively exhausted. When she had not called upon him, Sera, and Blackwall to accompany her around the palace, he'd only seen her a handful of times. Each time she had made sure to check in with him, which he appreciated despite the fact that he was trying to avoid her by lingering in whatever darkened corner he could find. Once Florianne had been detained, Evelyn had spent near two hours talking with Celene, Briala, and Gaspard. During that time, he'd allowed himself to his own portion of expensive alcohol; which has dulled the freezing air that whispers across his face.

“Psst! Oi! You coming in or what? Thought you'd wanna see Gasparry and Silly and Fancy Pants Brialarala make flaming tits ov' themselves. And see Ev kick their prissy butts one last time or somethin'. And take off that daft hat, you look like a stiff cock with a tiny hat on it.” Sera speaks even less eloquently as she struggles to stay upright in the doorway. He sighs, and follows her into the ballroom.

–

It's well into the early hours of the morning when the festivities start to lay down. There are nobles passed out all over the palace; Solas thinks there's nary a love seat not occupied. He hasn't seen Sera or Dorian for a while; the last he saw, they were heading off up a flight of stairs with a potential lover on their arm. He grins at the thought of what the soirées he threw used to entail; they would make even Dorian blush, and would make Sera jump up and down in excitement.

“Solas?” A hand gently grips his forearm as he's wandering past an open door that leads out onto another balcony. He turns to see Evelyn looking up at him. She's changed back into the dress, and he thinks that she must be freezing.

“Evelyn.” He greets as he turns to her. She drops her hand away from his arm and leans against the doorway.

“I was looking for you. I thought you'd snuck off with someone.” She smiles; but there's sadness in her bloodshot eyes.

“No. I was to be Sera and Dorian's 'wing-man', whatever that means.” He's still unsure if the term is an insult or endearment. Evelyn laughs.

“And were you successful?” She inquires.

“Well, they've disappeared to their respective rooms with a lover on their arm, so I... assume so?” He raises one eyebrow, and Evelyn laughs again.

“Yes, you were successful. Would you like to sit with me for a little bit?” She tilts her head back slightly to the balcony behind her. He's tired and he's certain he can feel a hangover coming on, but he nods and follows her out. Thankfully, this one is mostly encased in wooden lattice that's covered in vines that help block out the cold. She leads him to a small dining set that's illuminated by a large candle. She gestures for him to sit opposite her.

“How has your evening been?” He asks. She shrugs.

“Boring, mostly. Everyone wanted to talk to me, but no one actually had anything interesting to say. I think I visited the snack tables one too many times just to have an excuse to leave.” She pats her flat stomach dramatically, and Solas grins.

“Ah, the joys of trying to navigate the hierarchy.” The alcohol has loosened him, and he's frightened he's given too much away. It seems to have loosened her, too, because she just grins and looks up at a little sparrow that's flitting through the leaves above them.

Loud cheering suddenly erupts from the palace, and the band begins playing again. Evelyn massages her temples.

“Oh dear Maker, I thought they'd finally stopped.” She mutters as she scrunches up her face. Solas chuckles as she groans.

“Anyway. How has your evening been? I hope you were not asked for drinks too many times.”

“Only a few times.” Solas admits. Evelyn narrows her eyes immediately.

“They're just lucky I wasn't there. I would've... I would've stabbed them with the heels of these ridiculous shoes!” She just her leg out to the side and wiggles her toes in the intricate footwear. Solas grins and shakes his head.

“A terrifying punishment.” Solas teases, and Evelyn sticks her tongue out at him. They laugh, then lapse into a moment of silence. The air is left heavy with unsaid words like it usually is when they're alone together.

“Solas?” She asks softly. He holds eye contact with her. His eyes dip down to her prominent collarbones, where the shadows from the candle light is wreaking havoc with his better judgement.

“Have you been avoiding me? Tonight, I mean. Have I... have I done something to upset you? Was it... what I said that night we returned to Skyhold?” She frowns as she looks down and cups both of her hands around her half full glass and spins it idly on the polished marble surface. His hazy brain takes a few seconds to catch up.

“No.” It doesn't sound convincing, not even to him.

“I've overstepped, haven't I? I've made you uncomfortable.” She's mumbling more to herself than she is to him. It's not a wrong conclusion, he is uncomfortable – but it's because of how he _feels_ , not because of anything she's said.

“I'm very sorry, Solas. I won't... I won't make you uncomfortable again.” She says as her eyes flit between his and her drink.

“Maybe... maybe we should have this conversation when you're not under the influence of alcohol.” It's the best he can offer. He's never been in this position before; he's never been unsure what exactly the conversation they're having even is, but he knows that something has changed between them. If this were happening in the time of Arlathan, he would be shunned even more than he already was.

Her fingers gently resting on his forearm reminded him that this wasn't the time of Arlathan.

“I've only had three drinks for the entire night. I know we cleared out the Venatori, but this place just makes me feel uneasy, you know? Didn't want to get caught drunk and clumsy.” She quickly pulls her hand back to her lap when he looks up from his moment of distraction.

“I see.” She gives him another sad smile, and moves to stand. As if on queue, the music emanating from the palace slows down.

“Before I go, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” Solas' head snaps up despite his weariness. It has been a long time since he has danced, so he tells her so. She laughs.

“Me too. Come on, we can step on each other's toes. It'll be great.” She holds out her manicured hand, and her numerous bracelets and jewels clink together with the movement. He looks at her hand, then follows her arm up to her shoulder, then her face. There is so much hope in her eyes that he cannot deny her. He stands, and gently slides an arm around her waist. He feels her back stiffen at his touch, and he takes a step back. Her hand finds his, and she pulls him back towards her. He holds his breath as she begins leading the dance.

They start not quite looking at each other; she at his shoulder and he at the top of her head, but eventually, their eyes meet as they find their rhythm. Eventually, her chest is pressed against his and her hand is holding his tightly. He tries not to think about the way he can feel her hard nipples pressing against the thin fabric of his tunic. He digs his fingers into her hip, and he doesn't miss the small gasp that spills from her lips. She looks up at him through thick eyelashes, and they stop moving. She slides her hand out of his, and moves it up his arm, over his shoulder, and around his neck. She pauses; waiting for a denial that Solas knows he can no longer give. He parts his lips slightly, and she rocks onto the tips of her toes and presses her full lips against his. Both of his hands move to her hips, and he grips her tightly as their lips move together. She's warm and wanting, and the way her fingertips are stroking the base of his skull is maddening.

Dirthamen would spit at his feet for this dalliance. Falon'Din would want to kill them both.

He pulls back, and holds her at arm's length. She's flustered; he can see the deep flush spreading from her cheeks down to her neck even in the dull lighting. She looks at him with confusion.

“This... this isn't right. We can't... in another life...” He's fumbling for words, for sentences that will validate him. She grips his forearms, and he drops his gaze to their feet. She lets out a short laugh that's filled with anything but mirth.

“Decide whether you're pushing or pulling me, Solas.” She says, and he winces at the hurt in her voice.

“I-”

“In another life? What is _that_ supposed to mean?” She lets go of his arms, and takes a step back until she's leaning back against the trellis. He shakes his head; still not able to look at her. Now it is he who has led her on. He shouldn't have let things get this far. Not when... not when there is too much at stake.

“Look at me, damn it. Is _this_ what you want?” He lifts his gaze to her, and his eyes widen; harsh points have replaced the rounded tips of her ears. He can't speak. She takes his silence as confirmation.

“It is, isn't it? Well, at least now I know. _Ir abelas_ , Solas. Sorry I can't be what you want. But you know what? _Tel'abelas_. I'm not sorry for wanting you. You made it so damn _easy_.” In mere seconds, her ears round out again, and she leaves him standing alone on the balcony.

He returns to his seat, and puts his face in his hands. He wasn't silent because he wanted her to have pointed ears; he was silent because he _didn't_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir abelas: I am sorry.  
> Tel'abelas: I'm not [sorry].


	4. the fool

He's been stewing about Halamshiral for a fortnight, and he's still not able to sort his thoughts into anything that makes sense. She might as well have sliced him open, pulled his ribcage apart, and clenched her fingers around his heart for all of the pain he's going through.

This should not be. He's got too much at stake – too much riding on not letting anyone get to close, and she? She has gotten much too close. He's not supposed to care about anyone from this time, let alone want to do the things to her that he wants to.

He's _sick_. He knew he'd always been somewhat... _rebellious_ , but even he is surprised at how far he has let things go.

He places his palms down on his table on either side of his tome and closes his eyes. He wills his mind to relax as he slows his breathing. He's never succumbed to such weakness before, and he will not succumb now. Especially not to someone who isn't one of his people – and she never could be, could she? She could spin all of the illusions she wanted to, but she'd still be a fake.

The image of her pointed ears flits through his mind, and he digs his nails into the wood. He feels a splinter slide in underneath one of his nails, and he lets out a low growl.

“Now, now, the book didn't do anything to you. Make sure you put it back in the right spot when you've finished, won't you? It's taken me months to arrange this library into some semblance of order.” He looks up to see Dorian leaning over the balcony.

“Yes.” He replies, and then the Tevinter steps back to do whatever it was he does up there. Solas doesn't know, and he doesn't care either.

Another hour passes, and all he has done is stare at the same page of the book. Sometimes he wishes he had a friend in Skyhold; someone he could talk to that would not patronise him or use him as a cheap punchline for their bad joke. Well, he did have one friend, but when she was the thing he needed distraction from, it didn't count.

He contemplates retiring to his quarters and sleeping. He decides that it is the best course of action to help clear his mind and he rises from his chair to make his way there. He moves through the main hall, then up to his quarters. He frowns when he sees Iron Bull casually leaning against the locked door to his room.

“Iron Bull.” Solas greets politely. The qunari peers down at him with his one good eye.

“Solas. How's it going?” Bull asks slowly. Solas maintains eye contact – he's familiar with the Bull's intimidation tactics. They do not scare him.

“I'm quite exhausted, actually. I was heading to my quarters to retire for the evening.” Solas answers honestly. Bull looks up at the copper late afternoon sky and hums to himself.

“May I?” Solas asks as he sweeps his hand towards the door. Bull watches him for a moment.

“Sure, but I've got a question for you first.”

Solas sighs.

“No, I have not _'boned'_ any wraiths. As I've told you numerous times now, their form isn't solid enough to-”

Bull shakes his head.

“Sure, whatever you say, but that wasn't my question.”

Solas glares up at him; his patience wearing like unravelling twine that's almost thin enough to snap.

“Ask, then.” He orders the qunari, who takes a deep intake of breath and swallows slowly like he's deliberately trying to bother him (he probably is).

“Saw you and the boss dancing together at the ball.”

“And?” Solas bites back quickly – probably a little too quickly, but it's better than an outright denial.

The qunari slowly shrugs his massive shoulders.

“I dunno. Was just wondering what that was about.” Solas hasn't broken eye contact the entire time, and refuses to do so.

“There is nothing to be concerned about. It was a friendly dance, nothing more.” Solas can see by the way the qunari's eyes darken that he had definitely seen more than a dance.

“See, that's what the boss told me when I asked her about it.” Solas has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

“If you're trying to arrive at a point, please do so quickly, or move out of the way.” Bull narrows his eyes slightly, but sidesteps nonetheless. Solas pulls out his key from his pant pocket, and unlocks the door. Before he opens it, he turned to look at the Bull.

“Are you finished?” He asks.

“Just one more thing. Well, two more things. The ears, and the kiss. Shit, I was drunk as hell, but I know that I definitely saw _that_. Now that kiss looked a lot more than friendly to me. And the pointy ear business? Well, I ain't got no idea what was happening there, but I'm pretty sure it's wrong.” Solas' hand freezes on the doorknob. He should've been more careful, should've told her _no Inquisitor, I need to get to bed_ when she had invited him onto the balcony.

“Why don't you ask the Inquisitor about that? If you have not already.” Solas replies calmly.

“See, I would, but I thought I'd ask you about it first. I don't know how you did it, and shit, I don't _wanna_ know, but if you're doing things to her against her will, I-”

Solas releases the doorknob and moves to stand in front of the Bull.

“I am aware of your feelings – or rather, lack of – towards me, but do not go so far as to assume I would do things like that to her without her knowledge or consent.” Solas knows his tone is giving too much away, but the Bull's already seen; he already _knows_.

The qunari gives him a giant, self satisfied grin.

“So you did do that, then.” Solas shakes his head and returns to his door. When he enters his quarters, Bull stands at the threshold, and the room turns dark as his giant silhouette eclipses the sun's rays.

“I said no such thing. You're the Ben-Hassrath, why don't you figure it out?”

And with that, he slams the door in the Bull's face. His anwers were less than tactful, but how can he have them for anyone else if he doesn't even have them for himself?

–

He doesn't expect the Bull to actually go and ask Evelyn about what he saw, and he certainly doesn't expect Evelyn to come barrelling into his quarters an hour later. He hears only yelling as he quickly sits up in bed and tries to snap himself wide awake.

“... _and_ you didn't even deny it! I thought you would've at least - argh!” She's pacing at the foot of his bed; occasionally throwing her hands in the air in frustration. He watches her and decides to just wait for her to finish; she'll tire herself out eventually. She stops and turns to face him.

“You know what he thinks now? He thinks we're doing blood magic together.”

Solas raises an eyebrow. A ridiculous, but not entirely inaccurate conclusion, he supposes. Evelyn leans onto the footboard of his bed with both hands as she leans over his feet.

“Yeah. He made me sit down and asked if I needed a fucking intervention from Cullen. An _intervention_. From _Cullen!_ ” She growls, then throws her hands in the air again before turning her back to him. He watches as she sighs and runs her hand through her hair. She's wearing her pyjamas and her hair is not tied back neatly like it usually is. Had she been sleeping too?

“Evelyn, I-” She raises a hand, and he closes his mouth. He's disgusted with how easily he dissolves to her command. She should be kneeling for him.

“Don't. Just don't. I had to make up some bullshit story that Morrigan enchanted my ears so that I could disguise myself amongst the servants. Then, I had to try and get to Morrigan before Bull got to her so she could be a part of the lie. You should've seen the look on her face when I told her what she needed to say, and _why!_ ” When she turns back to him, he notices leaves strewn throughout the front of her hair. One corner of his mouth pulls up.

“Are you... are you _laughing_ at me?” She says in complete wonder. She takes a step forward, and a leaf falls from her hair.

He can't hold in the laughter. She watches him with wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth.

“Oh, you think this is funny? I had to dive through a _fucking_ bush to get to Morrigan. Did you know that we have rose bushes hidden underneath the hedges? Well, we do!” She shouts as she pulls up her sleeves to her elbows. Numerous thin red lines criss cross around her forearms.

Solas stops laughing.

“I'm sorry. Are you alright?” She frowns and glances down at her feet.

“No, I- I'm not. What if it were Cassandra or Sera or Vivienne that saw us?” She's barely speaking above a whisper.

“Cassandra and Sera were too drunk, and Vivienne was too busy sidling up to the nobles to have paid attention to anyone else but themselves.” Her eyes widen at his reassurance.

“But what if it was, Solas? We'd... we'd end up with brands on our foreheads.”

_Not likely._

“We would not. They are not so callous.” He actually wouldn't put it past any of them to do it, but she doesn't need to know that.

She nods slowly.

“Yeah, I guess you're right.”

They hold eye contact for a few moments before he notices her eyes quickly glance at his bare chest.

“Was there something else you needed, Inquisitor?” She guiltily returns her gaze to his, and shakes her head.

“No. Just... just... never mind. Good night.”

After she is gone, he cannot return to sleep.

–

Another week passes, and the relative quiet of Skyhold is replaced by the chaos of Adamant.

“I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'd prefer being back at the Winter Palace with the poncy nobles than here.” Blackwall says gruffly as he almost effortlessly decapitates a corrupted warden that Evelyn had frozen. When the spell wears off, Sera's standing too close. She shrieks as the warden explodes into icy, bloody shards that spray all over her armour.

“Ugh!” The elf says before spitting at the bricks below her feet. Blackwall chuckles, and Evelyn's eyes sparkle with mirth despite the dark circles that surround her eyes.

“Oh, fuck off.” Sera blows a raspberry at Blackwall as she lifts up the hem of her tunic and wipes her face. Overhead, a fireball crashes into the ramparts above them. They all immediately dive for cover and move out of the way just in time for the bricks to collapse into the spot they were just standing.

“Let's keep moving.” Evelyn says wearily as Blackwall helps her up once the dust has cleared. She hurries ahead, but Solas can see the way she's limping, even though she's doing her best to hide it. He looks to Blackwall, who frowns. The warden's noticed it too.

“Ev? You alright?” It seems the minute limp has caught the rogue's attention too. Evelyn casts a glance over her shoulder.

“Fine. You?” She's so nonchalant that he knows that she's not fine.

“You look a bit limpy.” Sera states. Evelyn stops, then turns to face her companions.

“It's going to be nothing compared to what the world is going to look like if we don't help clear the battlements and find Clarel. Come on.”

Nobody mentions the limp again.

–

The Fade.

He's excited, of course, but there's also the chance that the nightmare demon knows exactly what's in his head. It's already spoken to him in elvhen – and he's thankful for that, at least. No one in the party can speak it, as far as he knows, but he's going to be in a world of trouble if the demon broadcasts his thoughts in the common tongue to his companions. The constant furrow of Evelyn's brow tells him that she's worried too – Solas doubts that Sera and Blackwall would take kindly to Evelyn's hidden magical talents.

“Evelyn, there's a great deal your companions don't know about you. Do you think I should indulge them, or should I let nature take it's course?” The demon booms ahead as if on cue to his thoughts, and Solas sees her go as taut as a bowstring a few metres in front of him for a split second before her shoulders relax again.

“You can try, if you like. This is all still going to end the same way, whether you try to turn my friends against me or not.” She snarls. They continue through the fade, and eventually, the demon turns it's attention to the other warden, Alistair. He hears her exhale in relief, and wonders if she's been holding her breath the entire time.

–

For a few minutes, he thought that he was going to die in the fade. He'd never needed to worry about death much; even though uthenera had weakened him, if he was in grave danger, he would've been able to help himself. Fortunately, that was never required and he'd been able to continue on under the guise of wandering apostate.

“ _Shit!_ Little help, you two!” Sera calls from behind him. He and Blackwall turn from where they're helping Hawke tend to a rather large gash across her left cheek to see Sera struggling to hold up a limp and unconscious Evelyn. She'd been standing and alert just moments ago.

“Go. I'm fine.” Hawke waves them off as she looked at Evelyn with concern. When he makes it over to the two women, Sera's exhausted legs have given out and she's crumpled to the floor with Evelyn half on top of her. The city elf glances up at Solas and Blackwall with wide eyes.

“Look at her arm! Look at her arm!” She shrieks as she pulls up Evelyn's sleeve. Solas kneels down to inspect it.

“That's not good.” Blackwall comments from beside him as Sera continues tugging up the Inquisitor's sleeve to reveal a fang like wound that looks like it's already festering.

“It was one of those fear things, wasn't it? She saw spiders, didn't she? Shit. _Fuck_. Creepy... creepy eight legged _freaks!_ ” Sera looks between Blackwall and Solas frantically. Solas keeps his expression neutral to hide his concern; he's certain that finding medical supplies for her in the ruined fortress was going to be a monumental task, which was one she didn't have time for.

“You can fix it, yeah?” Sera asks desperately as she cradles Evelyn's head against her chest. Solas drops her arm and stands up.

The poison would have already made it into her bloodstream by now. She was long past being treated with salves and stitches.

“Get Dorian.” He calmly commands Blackwall, and the man immediately sets off to find the Tevinter mage.

–

“I think you're mistaken. I don't _do_ blood magic.” Dorian says as he eyes Evelyn's unconscious form on the bed roll.

“I am not here to judge your morals, nor am I here to condemn you. The Inquisitor is not going to make it, Dorian. We have no antidote for the venom that is in her bloodstream, and we do not have time to research one. She is too far gone for healing magic, also.” Solas sees no benefit in tact for this situation, and gets straight to the point.

Dorian frowns as he glances down at Evelyn. Her skin is tinged yellow, and her eyes look sunken. Her lips are pale and split down the middle. Her ankle has been bandaged too; her limp had been caused by a sprain that had only been worsened by spending hours running through the wet and uneven terrain in the fade. Solas is trying not to let worry get the best of him, but the sweat on the back of his neck isn't caused by just the dry heat that swirls around the fortress and seeps it's way into the tent.

“I...” Dorian runs a hand through his already mussed hair and swears in Tevene under his breath.

“Can't you-”

“No. Do not ask me again. I cannot do this. I am unable to. You are her only hope.” Solas can't risk the bond that comes with the sharing of blood. After a short moment of hesitation, Dorian pulls a small blade with an intricately carved golden handle from a pocket in his robe.

“I'll have you know I have only witnessed such things be performed, and have never attempted them personally.”

Solas couldn't care less if Dorian performed blood magic every night under the silvery light of the moon clad only in the skin that he was born in.

“You have my word that this will never leave this tent, and we will never speak of it again.”

He just needs her to live. He doesn't know why, but he does.

–

She's been asleep for three days. In another three, Skyhold will come into view. Being on the road is making him increasingly anxious. Being stuck with the Inquisitor's inner circle non-stop is making it worse. He's sick of answering the same questions over and over again, he's sick of being in a small caravan filled with people he doesn't much care for, and most of all, he's sick of Sera's incessant chatting. He wants to rest, but the elf is telling some crude story to Blackwall and Varric at the front of the caravan that he's trying his best not to listen to but she's just so _loud_.

“... and she says, I swear that's the first time that's happened! I was like, piss, it is. It doesn't get like _that_ on it's own!” Blackwall and Varric erupt into laughter, and Solas feels himself taking one step closer to full blown insanity. He should've stayed in the Inquisitor's caravan – it would have been peaceful if not for the fact that Dorian has taken up residence there for the journey back to Skyhold. 

“Stop the caravan.” Solas says, and the other three in his caravan turn to look at him.

“What's that?” Sera asks.

“Stop the caravan.” Solas repeats. Sera leans back to open the small window.

“Oi, can you stop? Baldy needs to take a piss.” Solas stares blankly at her when she turns back to him with a self satisfied grin on her face. He thinks that he might want to strangle her. No, he definitely wants to strangle her. Luckily for her, the caravan slowly comes to halt and he can escape before his homicidal thoughts are put into actions. He's thought about ending the insufferable elf many times before, but Evelyn's condition has put him on edge and he feels his fist clench at his side as he steps out of the caravan and onto the ground below.

“What's the hold up?” Cullen calls from a few caravans back.

“Baldy needs to pee!” Sera screeches back from where she's opened the skylight on the caravan and popped her head out.

Most of the time, Solas has no regrets about his deceptions. Today is no different.

"Alright everyone, take five!" Cullen's voice booms.

He moves into the thick hedges on the side of the dirt road and leans against the trunk of a thick tree a couple hundred metres into the forest. He doesn't need to urinate, but it gives him an excuse to take a breather. The air in the caravan felt too tight; like it was threatening to strangle him in the same way he had imagined strangling Sera. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. In the canopy of branches overhead, a single sparrow chirps happily. When he looks up at it, it squawks and flies off immediately in terror. He compares it to Evelyn – he, the wolf, and she, the bird.

The only problem is, she doesn't flee when she should. Perhaps a bigger problem, he decides, is that neither does he.

–

When they finally reach Skyhold, a scout runs ahead to meet the inner circle at the gate.

“Commander!” The dwarven woman shouts at Cullen, who is a few metres up ahead and speaking to his second in command, Ophelia.

“What is it?” The commander replies.

“Is the Inquisitor with you, Commander? There's a man here who says that he knows her.” Cullen stops, and so does everyone else.

“What's his name?” Cullen asks cautiously.

“Nerian, ser. Says he's an elf from an alienage that the Inquisitor used to teach reading and writing to the children at. Says he wants to lend his hands to the Inquisition, and... uh, and to the Inquisitor.”

Solas' brows twitch slightly. Cassandra folds her arms beside him.

“Send him to Leliana. She can decide what to do with him until the Inquisitor is well.”

“Yes, ser.” The dwarven woman runs back to the gates, and their group continues. Solas feels sick, and he doesn't know why.

_He was no longer at the alienage when I returned._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading, it really means a lot to me. I hope you're enjoying it :)  
> Also there wasn't much Evelyn/Solas dialogue in this chapter, but I can promise you there's lots coming in the next one >:)


	5. strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think a Solvelyan fic wouldn't get a little weird, did you? ;)  
> Also I'd like to thank BloodyMassive for being my beta for this chapter. Thank you so much for spending well over an hour on it with me and it was great getting to know you! :)

He's usually regretful that the rotunda is directly underneath the library and the rookery, but tonight he isn't regretting the decision to stay there at all.

“My agents confirm that Nerian did indeed stay at Ostwick's alienage, however only the Inquisitor could confirm whether or not his claims to know her held any truth,” Leliana explains. Solas freezes with his paintbrush in the air halfway between him and the wall.

“And?” Dorian asks.

“She confirmed it,” the spymaster replies. Dorian lets out a low whistle.

“What an absolute _scandal_ for the nobles,” The mage says excitedly.

“They are not aware. Josie says it is best kept that way for now,” There's shuffling above him, and he stretches to his full height in a vain attempt to continue listening.

“Hmm, she's probably right. Where are they now?”

“They are still in her quarters.”

A pause.

“I've stationed guards outside her quarters just in case things are not as they appear, but the Inquisitor seemed happy to accept him. I assume they have a lot to talk about; Evelyn said it has been almost eight years since she has had contact with this Nerian.”

Dorian chuckles, and Leliana tuts at his misinterpretation.

“Yes, _talk_. Is that how we refer to it in the South?” the mage drawls. Solas' grip tightens on the paint brush's handle, and he hears a crisp snap. He glares at the split paint brush as if it's responsible for his frustration.

“Contrary to popular belief, what the Inquisitor does in her private quarters is none of my business,” Leliana says.

“Oh, you're no fun. Go on then, attend to your nugs or evil birds or whatever it is you do up there,” Dorian teases. There are footsteps, and then the tower is relatively silent again. He stays still and silent for a long while; his eyes focusing so hard on the fresco in front of him that his eyesight starts to go blurry. He shakes his head, then turns toward his desk to get another paintbrush.

He's gone through three in the last two hours, which is the exact amount of time Evelyn's ex lover had been in her quarters. He narrows his eyes and flings the broken brush into the small metal bucket under his desk along with the others. He can't shake a feeling of uneasiness, and he knows it's not just from the fact that he's unjustly jealous. Just as he unravels the leather pouch that neatly holds all of his brushes and tools, he hears a blood-curdling scream from somewhere in Skyhold. Could it be a possession? He knows that some of the soldiers that had come back from Adamant in the Inquisitor's group had been emotionally damaged by some of the things they'd seen, and those sorts of feelings were a screaming invitation to any despair demons.

“ _Venhedis_ , what was that?” Dorian says as he glances over the balcony railing above him to look at Solas.

“It's the Inquisitor!” someone yells from the main hall, and Solas drops his brushes and runs. The door to the Inquisitor's quarters is obscured by a crowd of people. He roughly pushes past them without care for politeness and almost smacks into Leliana, who has made her way through the crowd a similar way. She gives him a nod of acknowledgement, and they sprint up the Inquisitor's main door together. When they reach it, two guards are frantically trying to break down the door.

“What happened?” Leliana demands. One guard turns to face her.

“We don't know, Lady Leliana. Everything was fine, and then she was screaming. We can't get it, it's-” The guard turns back to the door and throws all of her weight behind a shoulder ram against the thick wood.

“It won't budge!” the guard says desperately.

“Is she alive?” Solas asks the woman.

“Yes, we think so. We've heard her yelling,” Solas' stomach twists into an even tighter knot.

“Let me try,” Leliana says as she motions for the guards to step aside. She bangs her fist against the door before she speaks.

“Inquisitor? Evelyn? Are you alright?” the spymaster calls. There are a few moments of silence before Evelyn responds.

“I... I think I need help!” she shrieks back. Leliana glances back to Solas for a second before returning her attention to the door.

“Inquisitor, you're going to need to unbar the door. We can't get in,” Leliana says as calmly as possible.

“What is going on?” A wide eyed and panting Josephine asks from behind Solas. He turns to face her, and sees Cullen by the ambassador's side.

“I am uncertain,” Solas says simply before turning around to observe Leliana's effort.

“I can't... I... _fuck_. Oh, _fuck!_ ” Evelyn's voice breaks into the sound of muffled sobbing.

“Solas, I need you to help with the door!” Leliana says as she steps to the side of it. He looks at her for a moment, and she nods. He visualises his fist as a separate entity to his body and pushes it towards the door, which shatters into thousands of splinter like pieces. Josephine shrieks in surprise from behind him.

“No! No! Don't come up here!” Evelyn screams just as he and Leliana are about to step through the threshold and onto the remnants of the ruined door.

“Inquisitor, it's me and Solas,” Leliana replies gently. Solas frowns; he can feel the energy of leftover magic prickling against his skin.

“Solas? Solas is with you?” Evelyn says shakily. Leliana casts him a sidelong glance.

“Yes. Cullen and Josephine are here, too,” Leliana says as she holds her index finger up to stop Cullen and Josephine from advancing any further.

“No, don't come up!” Evelyn yells anxiously.

“Ok, Evelyn, we'll stay right here. What do you need us to do? Are you hurt?” Solas is impressed by the former bard's calm demeanour.

“I... I'm not hurt. Ah, I mean, it's only a scratch. I'm ok,” Evelyn eventually replies.

“And your friend? Is he hurt?” Leliana questions. Cullen mumbles something to Josephine, and the ambassador inhales sharply.

Time stretches on, and Evelyn still hasn't replied.

“Evelyn?” Leliana calls out as she takes a small step forward. The wood snaps noisily beneath her heavy boot, and Evelyn panics again.

“No, _no!_ Don't come up! Please!” Leliana stops, and turns to give Cullen and Josephine an exasperated look.

“What do you need us to do?” Leliana asks again with the patience of a saint.

“Leave. Please, leave. All of you. Except Solas!” His brows raise in surprise at the unexpected request.

“ _What?_ ” A dumbfounded Cullen growls. Leliana stares at him for a moment before she replies.

“Ok, Inquisitor. We will be just outside the door in the main hall if you need us.” Leliana turns and shoos Cullen and Josephine back with her hands.

“ _What?_ No! Leliana, she needs hel-” Josephine hisses under her breath. Leliana raises a hand and shakes her head.

“You will come to get us should you need to,” Leliana says quietly but firmly as she turns to Solas. He nods, and Leliana ushers a still complaining Josephine and Cullen back to the main hall. He waits a few moments after hearing the door close behind them before speaking.

“They are gone. May I come up?” he asks gently.  

“Ye... yes,” her reply from above is so quiet, he almost misses it. Slowly, he makes his way up the stairs and onto the landing. The residual magic gets stronger with each step. His eyes widen when he makes it to the landing and turns to look over the room. Evelyn is standing near the doors opposite her bed; clad only in a robe. Four vertical scratches mar her left cheek, and she still has a bandage around her arm and one tightly wrapped around her ankle. She's wincing slightly, and he can see that she's putting her weight onto the ankle that isn't injured by her awkward stance. Other than the scratches, she doesn't seem otherwise injured.

A large chunk of ice sits silently in the middle of the room. Solas moves towards it, and peers into the frosted water. He takes a step back when he sees an eye.

“He... he was possessed,” she whispers as Solas circles the frozen elf. He stops and turns to her.

“Are you alright?” She holds his gaze for a moment and he sees tears well up in her eyes.

“N- no. No,” she stammers as she runs a hand through her messy hair. It is then that he notices her flushed face and the clothes strewn across the floor.

It seemed that the ex lover had almost not been an ex anymore. He swallows the bile in his throat, and gently slides an arm around her waist and pulls her against him. She leans into him and chokes back a sob. The silk of her robe is cool against his flushed skin, and he tries to ignore it. There is never an appropriate time to lust after her, but now is especially inappropriate. He steers her towards the couch and sets her down.

“Possessed by what?” Solas asks, because he can't help himself. Her eyes flit away from his and focus on the floor. She mumbles something he doesn't quite hear.

“Pardon?”

“A desire demon,” she says much louder, but she still doesn't look at him.

“Ah,” he says. So far, he hasn't encountered any desire demons in his travels with the Inquisition, but he knows that they can be quite powerful.

“I froze him,” she says needlessly. Solas circles the ice again and raps his knuckle against the frosty surface. The ice is at least three inches thick, and doesn't show any signs of shattering anytime soon. He frowns – he's never seen a mage in this time cast an ice spell so thoroughly.

“I couldn't kill him. I thought... I mean, I know there's nothing we can do for him now that the demon has taken hold, but I... I just couldn't...” she trails off and scrunches up her face in what Solas assumes is an attempt to not cry. He strides over to her and takes one of her trembling hands in his.

“Would you like me to...?” he asks as he waves a hand out to his side. She purses her lips and nods frantically.

“Yes. Please. I can't-” The nod turns into a shake as Solas turns back. He observes the ice for a moment as he tries to think of the best course of action. Ice spells don't usually kill the receiver; however the ice wasn't usually cast to be this thick. If the man really was possessed, though, it was highly likely that when the spell was removed, he would still be alive. Solas reaches for the knife he keeps sheathed in a pouch in his belt, and moves to stand at the frozen man's back. He looks to Evelyn, who is watching him with a slightly raised brow. She looks small and fragile in her thin robe; a far cry from the fearless leader who didn't even bat an eyelid when they faced the nightmare demon in the fade.

“I recommend you leave for this,” he says, but she doesn't move a muscle.

“No. It's not Nerian... not really. I'm staying,” she replies firmly, so he doesn't push her any further. If it might give her some comfort to see the demon ended, he will not deny her.

“As you wish,” he says as he places his palm onto the ice and plants his feet firmly into the ground.

“Break the spell, Evelyn,” he asks, and she raises her own hand. White smoke emanates from her hand for just a moment before the ice shatters into shards, which then disappear into thin air as if they had never existed. Solas lunges forward, and pulls the possessed man against his chest before he has time to realise what is happening. Evelyn gasps as Solas presses the blade against the man's throat.

“Leave this plain, and do not return,” Solas growls into his ear as he allows the blade to break the skin. The elf chuckles despite his squirming.

“ _Mar solas ena mar din!_ ” the demon snarls back. Solas huffs; if the desire demon was going to say the same thing to him as what the nightmare demon had in the fade, it would get the same response.

“ _Banal nadas_ ,” he replies calmly.

“ _Dirthara-ma_. She will not survive this. It is inevitable!” Solas casts a glance to Evelyn, who is watching the exchange with wide eyes. He realises that the demon had come to hurt him by hurting her. A chill runs down his spine at the thought that they _know_.

“ _Telanadas_ ,” Solas replies calmly as he drags the blade across skin. The elf gurgles through a mouthful of blood as he falls to the floor, and Solas takes a step back. Evelyn stands, and casts a cautious glance down to the bloody mess of what was once her friend. She wraps her arms around herself tightly as she peers at the man that is clad only in underwear. A single tear falls from her left eye as she takes a step back from the blood that is soaking through the rug and out towards her.

They say nothing to each other for a long while as they stare at the corpse on the ground between them. Solas takes note of his face; he is unmarked.

“Thank you,” she says quietly after a few minutes. Solas nods; it doesn't feel right to say you're welcome after you've just killed someone who was once important to her, whether possessed or not.

“I will organise someone to... remove him,” Solas says. He wipes the knife on his pants (they're already ruined, after all), then steps around the dead man to make his way to the stairs. He's stopped by small fingers grabbing his forearm.

“No, _please _, Solas. I don't want... I don't want anyone else to see!” Her grip tightens on him as she speaks. He glances down and frowns as he notices the numerous silvery scars that litter the forearm that isn't bandaged. When she notices where his attentions are, she releases him and rolls her silken sleeves down to her wrists. She will not look at him.__

__“Evelyn, what are these?” he asks as he pulls her arm back towards him. She pulls it back with a surprising amount of strength. As she does so, the tie on her robe comes loose and she almost exposes herself completely to him. She swears under her breath as she hurries to do it back up again. She mumbles apologies as she slowly looks up at him._ _

__“What are the marks?” he asks again; this time in a gentle whisper so he has a chance of getting an answer from her, even though he knows what they are - small slices made against her skin in desperation and hope to bring forth the magic of her will._ _

__She finally meets his eyes._ _

__“You _know_ what they are, Solas.” There's the slightest hint of bitterness in her tone, like she hates him for making her say it anyway. He takes her forearm in the palm of his hand and slides her sleeve up. He sees her entire body tense under his scrutiny, but she doesn't pull away._ _

__On first glance, he had seen approximately thirty small scars. On closer inspection, there's at least fifty._ _

__“How have you kept these hidden?” He asks as he turns her arm over. The scars run the entire way up to her elbow._ _

__“Makeup. Sleeves. Magic,” she says sarcastically as she wiggles her fingers in front of her face. He narrows his eyes at her, but she doesn't scare into submission easily; instead narrowing her own in an insolent expression. He sighs and releases her arm. Her eyes flit to her left where the pressing issue of the dead body still needs to be dealt with._ _

__“Help me,” Evelyn says as she kneels down beside her former friend. Solas stares at her, but doesn't move. Does she expect to parade the body through the main hall clad only in her silken robe? The scandal would make Vivienne (and the rest of the uppity nobles) faint where they stood._ _

__“Solas! Help me lift him!” She asks as she shuffles on her knees towards the elf's bare feet. He glances at her bandaged ankle._ _

__“I do not think you should be lifting anything heavy, Evelyn. Why don't I get Blackwa-”_ _

__“ _No!_ ” She growls. He frowns at her, then walks over to stand at the elf's head, and bends down to hook his own hands beneath Nerian's armpits. The dead man's flesh is ice cold against his sweaty palms._ _

__“Good. Just help me lift him,” Evelyn mutters as she slowly rises to her feet. He sees her knuckles go white with the strength that she is trying to exude. He says nothing, lest he be snapped at again. Eventually, they manage to lift the limp man between them._ _

__“What now?” Solas asks. Evelyn tilts her head towards the balcony, and Solas' brows raise._ _

__“You cannot be serious,” he states. She gives him a hard look._ _

__“I don't want anyone else to see him like this,” she says defensively._ _

__“I am sure that Leliana can clear the main hall to have him removed,” he tries to reason._ _

__“No, I- _shit!_ ” She swears as her sweaty hands lose their grip around Nerian's ankles, and the man's feet fall against the floor with a heavy thud. Solas winces at the sound; he's not squeamish, not by any means – but seeing Evelyn injured and distraught is making his stomach turn._ _

__“Stop.” He says when she leans down. She stops half way and looks up at him in irritation._ _

__“If you are sure of this course of action, I will do it.”_ _

__Relief washes over her tired face._ _

__“Please,” she says as she takes a step back. Solas nods, and bends down to gather the elf in his arms as one might carry a new bride. As he does so, Evelyn rushes over to the balcony door and opens it wide. She holds it open as Solas nears, and he inhales sharply at the blistering cold that confronts him when he leaves the relative safety of Evelyn's room. He clenches his teeth as goosebumps rise along his flesh. When he makes it to the balcony, he turns to her._ _

__“Any last words?” He asks. She frowns and wrings her hands against her stomach for a few seconds._ _

__“Da... _dareth shiral_ , Nerian. _Abelas_ ,” she says slowly, as if she's scared of mangling the pronunciation (and although it's not the best attempt he's ever heard, it's not the worst). Solas nods and pretends that he is not startled by her use of elven. He resolves to be more careful when using it._ _

__“Do it,” she adds, and Solas leans over the balcony. He releases the man, and watches as he falls past the balcony below and into the icy chasm. The body does not make a sound when it hits the ground. A minute passes before she bumps against his side. She grips the balcony with bloodied fingers, then leans over it and gazes at the darkness below._ _

__“The wolves might feast on his body. Nerian would – he would like that. He always loved wolves.” Solas wants to grab her and shake her and scream at her because her words are too close to him and he wonders if it's more than just a coincidence. When she looks up at him with sunken eyes filled with grief, the thought is instantly erased from his mind. It's a chance coincidence, and nothing more._ _

__“How did you know that he was possessed?” He asks quietly. Her gaze flickers downward._ _

__“He – he changed forms,” she mumbles just loud enough for him to hear._ _

__“Into what?” He knows that now shouldn't be the time for questions, but he can't help himself. He needs to know._ _

__“Into something I wanted,” she replies as she turns back to gaze out onto the snow capped mountains that are made only slightly visible by the silver light of the moon above._ _

__He thinks of all the things she could want that her position as the Inquisitor could not give her, and all of the things that the demon could have possibly turned into. He comes up with nothing._ _

__“Which was?” he presses as he bends down and leans his forearms against the railing as he casts her a sidelong glance. She tucks a stray strand of windblown hair behind her ear before turning her head to look at him._ _

__“You.”_ _

__“Pardon?” he says. He couldn't have possibly heard that right. Surely their kiss at Halamshiral had just been a one time thing? He had put it down to her being lonely or tired or both of those things; he never would have thought that she wanted him past that._ _

__She drops her gaze from his and looks at her hands._ _

__“Please, Solas. Don't make me say it again,” she whispers as her nails dig into the stone of the railing. The resulting scraping sound and the thought of the stone gathering beneath her nails makes his shoulders tense. They stand in silence for a few moments._ _

__“Of all the things you could possibly want,” he thinks aloud. She had been a circle mage, who was now the bearer of a powerful mark that had changed her life (not entirely for the better); would she not be better suited to wanting a life without magic or a life without the mark? And, if she was being truthful - why did she want him so much? For a desire demon to target Evelyn, her want must have been loud enough to penetrate the fade._ _

__“I do not understand this,” he says as he pushes off from the balcony and swivels to face her. She slowly turns to him, and he sees the way her eyes are moist with tears that threaten to spill over._ _

__“Neither do I,” she says hoarsely._ _

__Then she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him._ _

__Her hot and hungry mouth is a stark contrast to the freezing air around them, and before he has time to think about the implications of kissing her again, he moves his hands to her hips and pulls her against him. She moans into his mouth as she arches her back in an attempt to get whatever friction she can find against him. He grips her tighter as her hands splay out to grip his shoulders. He digs his nails into her hips when her own dig into the nape of his neck. She turns, then moves backwards into her quarters without breaking the kiss. Solas follows, and when they make it into the room, she pulls away from him and manoeuvres around him to close the door. Turning back, Evelyn looks up at him with cheeks that are flushed as red as her tender lips._ _

__Solas shakes his head._ _

__“This isn't a good id-” before he can finish, she's wrapped around him again and silencing his lips with hers. He exhales a puff of air through his nose when she rolls her body against him and presses her hips against his half-hard cock. He slides his thigh between hers in delicious retaliation._ _

__It's not only a bad idea, it's a _very_ bad idea. He'd long accepted that he couldn't get attached to anyone that might be a hindrance in the future to come, and she would be a hindrance indeed. He suspects that she doesn't even know how powerful her magic is; circle mages rarely do- and those that dabble in blood and illusion magic are _especially_ unaware what they can achieve._ _

__He pulls his head back and she releases him immediately. Solas looks down at her; his chest is rising and falling heavily with arousal that he despises himself for having. He can already feel his cock swelling the rest of the way at the sight of her looking up at him with hunger in her eyes._ _

__“I... I want you. Do you want me too?” Evelyn asks quietly; almost innocently._ _

___He does. He does._ _ _

__“We can't. We shouldn't. You're-” _A shemlen. A human. An oppressor of his people,_ no matter how indirect. _An unwelcome distraction._ An unwelcome distraction who is stained in blood – blood of a man that she was presumably intending to have sex with. That part _especially_ not turn him on, but it does._ _

__She lets out a short and bitter laugh._ _

__“I know what I am, Solas. Do you know what _you_ are?” she says as she takes a step forward to fill the gap that he has left between them. Her hard nipples almost brush against his chest, and he mentally laments the fact that he only ever seems to be in close proximity to her when she's wearing heinously thin clothing. He curses himself for being so easily distracted by desires of the flesh – although free and wild with his affections in his youth, he had never allowed himself to be sidetracked so spectacularly. Why her? Why _now?__ _

__She's giving him a hard look as he stands there in silent consternation._ _

__“I know _exactly_ what I am,” he says, all low and menacing like it's a threat. For all he cares, it could be. It _should_ be, but the way her mouth parts slightly tells him it definitely hasn't been received as one._ _

__She walks her fingers up his chest from just above his bellybutton to the base of his throat._ _

__“Then show me.”_ _

__Her words stir something primal inside of him, and he snarls as he kneels down and hooks an arm just below the curve of her ass, and throws her over his shoulder. She yelps in response, but doesn't resist. He stalks over to her ridiculously large four poster bed, and unceremoniously throws her down on to the mattress. Evelyn gasps as she places her palms out to her side to stop herself from bouncing. Once she's over the initial shock, she looks up at him with wide eyes, and Solas thinks she didn't expect him to actually respond to her request._ _

__Solas didn't expect himself to, either._ _

__He looks down at her robe. The tie has loosened, and it has stopped just short of exposing her breasts. The golden trimmed hem has also ridden very high up against her slender thighs. She notices him looking, and leans up on her elbows to bring her hands to the tie in the center of her abdomen. She holds eye contact with him as she slowly undoes the knot, then shrugs off the robe onto the bed underneath her, until she is bare before him but for two bandages and an oddly manicured strip of pubic hair._ _

__The first thing he notices is just how slender she is. Small breasts, small waist, small hips. The second thing he notices is how her slit is already gleaming with moisture in the candlelight. She sits up at his silence, and slides her hands up the sides of his thighs to grip the hem of his trousers. Her gaze travels to the defined bulge in front of her face, then moves back up to his eyes._ _

__“Can I?” she asks as she gives his pants a small tug. He nods dumbly. She's ruined him with her half lidded eyes and tiny body, and he couldn't push her away again even if he were to try._ _

__She's roguishly quick with her hands as she undoes his belt, then unwraps and unbuttons his pants. Evelyn slides them down his legs, and he steps out of them. His hard cock bobs dangerously close to her face._ _

__“Take off your shirt,” she demands, so he reaches behind his head to pull the bloody tunic off. He holds it in front of him, and she grabs it from him, then throws it behind her before shimmying off the bed and standing beside him. She grabs his hips, and swivels him so that his back is facing the bed, then places the palm of her hand to the center of Solas’ chest and pushes him down._ _

__He doesn't have time to get comfortable before she is on top of him; her mouth moving hungrily against his once more as she rolls her hips against him. The head of his cock brushes against her wet slit, and she lets out a breathy moan as she drops her mouth to his neck. She trails her mouth up to his earlobe, and bites. His hands move from her hips to her ass, and he squeezes the soft flesh there as hard as she has bitten him. She wiggles above him, and his middle fingers press against her folds.  He dares to delve one ever so slightly into her heat, and she gasps. Her mouth moves to the tip of his ear, and he growls when she takes it into her mouth. His ears are sensitive, and when her tongue laves one with attention, he feels his cock twitch against her. Her teeth press down hard on the contours of his cartilage, and he slides one hand up her back to grab a fistful of hair to pull her head back. Evelyn yelps in surprise as he does so. He looks up at her; long, tousled hair framing her exposed throat, and a dusky gaze on him, and suddenly all doubt is gone- he wants her _completely_._ _

__“Take me in your mouth,” he commands. Her eyes narrow slightly, and for a few seconds he's sure that she's going to tell him to get out. As soon as he loosens his grip on her hair, however, she slides down to kneel on the bed between his legs and do as she was asked. He props himself up on his elbows and watches as she slides one hand around the base of his cock and uses the other to cup his balls._ _

__“Impressive,” she purrs as she lazily pumps his length with her hand. Her thumb slides slowly over the tip of his head when she pushes his foreskin down. He frowns. Had she not heard him?_ _

__Her smirk turns into a menacing grin, and he realises that she's trying to tease him._ _

__“ _Evelyn_ ,” he growls._ _

__“Mmm?” she hums back in reply; her expression quickly turning innocent._ _

__“Take me in your mouth,” he repeats. She tilts her head to the side as her hand continues sliding over him._ _

__“Solas! Where have your manners gone?” her mouth drops open in mock indignation. Solas thinks that in the next hour, there may be two bodies thrown over the balcony that evening._ _

__She pouts at his non-response. He knows what she wants, despite the evening's events; she wants a power struggle. He will not yield. Instead, he glares at her. She raises an eyebrow and stills her hand on him. Although her movements were slow and her grip was loose, he mourns the loss of sensation immediately._ _

__Not that he would admit it to her._ _

__They stare steadily at each other for a few moments; neither quite willing to make the next move first. Finally, she flips her hair over her shoulder and licks her lips. Holding eye contact with him, she lowers her mouth to his length, and maintains it as she slides her tongue over the tip of his cock to taste the bead of precum there. He wants to lay back and close his eyes, but he wants to watch too- he needs to see her small mouth try to take him to the back of her throat._ _

__She blinks at him with a flutter of long lashes, once, twice; then she slides him into her mouth and his vision blurs for a brief second. Her mouth is hot – almost painfully so, and her tongue is glorious against his neglected skin. She expertly bobs her head up and down as the hand on his balls increases it's pressure, and it takes all of his self control not to buck his hips._ _

___Self control. Ha, like you have any of that left. You're letting a shemlen touch you, and you want to touch her – maybe even more than she wants to touch you._ _ _

__He growls at the voice inside his head, and Evelyn mistakes it as a growl for her, and she moans around him. When he feels the head of his cock hit the back of her throat, he does growl for her. A few more repetitions of that, and his balls tighten with the promise of a quick release. It's too soon; he will not be remembered as a man who lasted minutes that could be counted on one hand._ _

__“Stop,” he demands, and Evelyn immediately takes her mouth from him and sits back. Worry clouds her flushed features._ _

__“Was that not-”_ _

__“It was fine.” He cringes at his choice of inadequate words. So does she._ _

__“Oh,” she says with deflated confidence as she wipes the back of her hand across her upper lip. He clears his throat._ _

__“It was... more than fine. Hence the needing to stop.” It pains him to admit it, but she only smiles in relief._ _

__“ _Oh!_ ” Her eyes light up again, and she lifts up one leg in an attempt to straddle him. Quicker than lightning, he flips them, and rolls her onto her stomach. She gasps when he leans over her and brings his mouth to her ear._ _

__“Get up on your knees,” he whispers, and she quickly rises onto her hands and knees. He places a hand on the back of her head, and pushes her down until her left cheek is resting on the mattress and her ass is in the air. Her skin is smooth; a smattering of freckles and the occasional minuscule scar the only interruptions on an otherwise perfect complexion across her back and behind. He leans back, then slides his hand from her back to her ass and kneads her firm cheeks in his hands. When he spreads her, a drop of her wetness falls onto the bed below._ _

__Seeing her spread like this for him, human or not, is the most erotic thing he's ever seen._ _

__“Are you ever going to fuck me?” she whines, and he lets actions speak for him instead of words. He moves back towards the edge of the bed and places one hand on the small of her back, then wraps the other around his cock. He sees her move back ever so slightly as her fists clench into the sheet on either side of her head in anticipation, and Solas hears a thread rip somewhere in the abused fabric when he slides the tip of his cock from her clitoris to her perineum. It slides easily; she's almost overflowing with moisture. It is at this point that he realises just how long it has been since he's lain with a woman. He wants to take her hard and fast and make her scream his name, but he's unsure if he has the stamina for it. He replaces his cock with two fingers. She inhales sharply when he slides them inside of her._ _

__“Yes. Please,” she mutters as he crooks his digits in an attempt to hit a pleasing spot. Slowly - as slowly as she had touched and teased him – he slides them in and out of her heat. She breathes heavily below him, and he's relieved that the anatomy of human females is almost identical to that of their elven counterparts._ _

__He suddenly remembers something._ _

__“Do we need to use protection?” he asks as his fingers slow to an almost stop inside of her. He cannot risk a pregnancy, no matter how small of a chance. She groans in irritation at the interruption before replying._ _

__“No. I'm sorted for that,” she huffs. He nods, and slides his fingers out of her to press the head of his cock against her entrance._ _

__“Solas,” she urges, and he presses forward to enter her in one long stroke. She moans as he ceases movement for a few seconds to allow her to accommodate his girth._ _

__“Hurry _up_ ,” she pleads impatiently as she thrusts back against him. He acquiesces to her demand, and begins fucking her with an unforgiving pace. She moulds perfectly to him, and every time he pushes forward to sheath himself inside her completely, her inner walls clench tightly around him. He keeps one hand on her hip and slides the other up her back to hold her head down as he leans over her. The new angle makes them both cry out in pleasure. She wiggles beneath him, and he watches as her right hand drags down the blanket and moves between her legs. Once he realises what she's doing, he slides his hand from her hip around to her sensitive bud to swat her own away and take it upon himself to make her come. She moves her hand back up to beside her head and lets him touch her without protest. He thrusts into her; deep and all encompassing as the pads of his middle and ring finger rub circles around her blood engorged clitoris. She's writhing beneath him now, and he knows that with the way her back and shoulders are tensed, she's close._ _

__“Boss? Is everything alright up there?”_ _

__They both go as still as a paragon carving in the Deep Roads at the voice that calls up from the ruined door to her quarters._ _

__Of _course_ it's Bull. He knows that the qunari is wary of him, and it doesn't surprise him that the man has come to check on Evelyn when he has no doubt been told that he is with her._ _

__“I'm fine. Everything's fine. Don't come up, I'll be down in a minute,” she calls back evenly._ _

__“You sure? Is Solas still up there with you?” Bull asks doubtfully._ _

__“I am. We are just... cleaning up. Will you please inform Leliana that everything is ok? I will give her a full recount soon,” Solas says. Evelyn reaches back to grab at his thigh and pull him against her._ _

__“Don't you dare stop,” she hisses under her breath. He resumes his ministrations against her clitoris, but does not thrust his hips just yet. His heart feels like it's pounding in his throat at the prospect of getting caught in such a compromising position. Evelyn thrusts back again to try and get some friction going, and she makes a muffled yelping noise against the palm of her hand that she thankfully has the good sense to put over her mouth._ _

__“Alright, whatever you say, Boss,” Bull replies. As his heavy footfalls fade the closer the qunari gets to the main hall, the quicker Solas begins moving again. He's never really been one for exhibitionism (save the few times that a soiree had gotten quite... _heated_ ), but the whole situation is just so wrong that it's right._ _

__“Fuck,” she sighs when they hear the slam of the door to the main hall in the distance. Her hand is still on his thigh, desperately trying to pull him harder against her. He leans back down and nips at her shoulder blade. Her skin is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, and he relishes the way the salt tastes in his mouth. He continues; catching her flesh between his teeth in small intervals up to her shoulder, then across to her neck._ _

__“Oh, Solas. _Fuck_. Don't stop, I-” He slams in and out of her like his life depends on making her come. She pushes back against him as her inner walls clench and her body goes taut, and a second later she howls as her cunt convulses around him and she reaches her climax. The spasms of her inner walls milking his cock, and the feel of her getting off so violently pushes him to his own orgasm, the peak of which is so intense that his vision blurs for a few seconds. His fist clenches around her hair as he empties himself into her; his hips jerking roughly, and she gasps beneath him in approval._ _

__When he feels her go limp beneath him, he gently pulls out of her and slides his hand around to rest on her lower back. He looks down to admire the way his seed slowly drips out of her. She slides down the bed slightly to sit on the edge, and looks up at him with heavy lidded eyes._ _

__“That was...” she trails off as she takes her bottom lip with her teeth._ _

___Excellent? Amazing? Mind blowing? Immensely satisfying? Something that can never happen again?_ _ _

__“Yes,” he replies simply as he bends down to retrieve his trousers. She watches as he gets dressed with a slight furrow in her brow. He looks around for his shirt, then remembers that Evelyn threw it over to the other side of the bed. Solas makes his way around the four poster, and hastily pulls the tunic on. The blood on it has not yet completely dried, and it chills against his overheated skin._ _

__“You should get dressed. I have no doubt that Leliana will want to speak with you too,” he says as he attempts to make himself look as presentable as possible. He glances at her, and she's looking up at him with a faraway expression._ _

__“Evelyn?” he asks. She does not look well; her face has paled and her eyes look glassy._ _

__“Are you alright?” Solas asks gently as he moves closer. She glances at his tunic, then stands and bolts for the balcony. He watches in utter horror as she throws up over the railing. By the time he has made it to her, she’s slumped over the railing and trembling. He goes to place a hand on her bare shoulder, but she bats it away._ _

__“Please go,” she says without turning. Solas notices the goosebumps rising on her naked skin, and takes another step towards her. Blood had never made her squeamish before, but then again it had never been the blood of someone she had once been close to that she had spilled._ _

__He suddenly feels like the world's biggest fool. How could he have let that happen – they had both been covered in blood, and she was clearly emotionally traumatised._ _

__He feels unclean, and not just from the streaks of blood across his chest. They should not have done this._ _

__“Please accept my apologies. It was not right to do this now,” he offers, but the words don't come out with as much weight as he intended them too. He's never been good with apologies._ _

__“You d-don't need to be sor-ry. I'm... I'm the one tha-that caught the demon's a-attention,” she stammers as her body shivers from its exposure to the freezing Frostback air. He grabs her arm, and pulls her back inside. When he turns back to her, she has her arms wrapped tightly around her torso. Solas looks around and spots a blanket strewn across her desk, and he retrieves it to place it around her shoulders._ _

__“Lay down. I will have a soothing tea brought up and a bath drawn for you. Leliana can wait until morning to speak with you,” he says as he steers her towards the bed. Even with the blanket over her shoulders, she feels ice cold. Before she can lay down, he grabs her soiled robe and scrunched up sheet._ _

__“I'm ok, Solas. I feel better now that I-” Her gaze falls upon the blood stained rug again, and she swallows loudly._ _

__“Evelyn, please,” he says, and she nods and lays on the bed with her eyes squeezed shut. He pulls the quilt cover over her, then turns to the rug, and holds out his free palm. With a small wave of his hand, the stain is hidden from view._ _

__“I will send a maid up for you while I speak with Leliana about Nerian,” he says as he turns back to face her. Her sleep induced serene features tell him that he's not going to receive a reply._ _

__Later, after he's briefed Leliana on the Nerian situation (he left the other parts out, of course) and he's finally alone in his quarters, he tears apart his room in a fit of self loathing. He feels as though he's slipping further and further away from himself and his original purpose, but he cannot stop himself. He can't refuse her._ _

__When he finally falls into sleep and moves into the fade, no spirits will come to him._ _

__He's never felt more alone._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven translations:  
> mar solas ena mar din - your pride will be your death  
> banal nadas - do not speak (approximate translation)  
> dirthara-ma: may you learn (used as a curse)  
> telanadas: nothing is inevitable  
> dareth shiral - safe journey  
> abelas - sorry/sorrow


	6. the hermit

Three days pass, and still the Inquisitor has not allowed anyone bar her favourite maids and Leliana up to see her.

“I'm sorry, ser, she still does not want any visitors,” one of the guards at the door tells him for the third time. He nods, and returns to the rotunda. He tries to concentrate on the tome that was one of many interesting finds from a recent Inquisition raid on a Venatori hideout, but the guilt in the pit of his stomach will not let his mind wander from what had happened with Evelyn.

Solas feels like a grey cloud has been hanging over his head since that evening, and he's certain that any minute now, a pair of guards or Cassandra or Leliana will come to escort him from the hold and tell him to never return.

He's unsure if that would be a bad thing.

“Have you quite finished with that yet?” Dorian yells from above him. Solas narrows his eyes and looks up at the mage who is leaning dangerously over the railing. Solas sighs and closes the book, then fastens it shut with the metal buckle.

“Here,” he says as he stands and readies himself to lob it up to the Tevinter, who gasps in alarm.

“Don't throw it! You'll drop it!” Dorian shrieks. Solas rolls his eyes.

“It is not I who will drop it, it is you who won't catch it,” he retorts. Many a time, both of them had been too lazy to go to the other's level, and instead took to throwing the books to each other.

It usually had the same success rate that one would have if they were trying to catch a wild, greased up nug.

“Oh, _fine_. Come up here, then,” Dorian asks. Solas places the book back onto the table with a heavy thump.

“No. You come down here,” Solas says as he folds his arms. He and the Tevinter glare at each other for a few moments, until Dorian leans back and throws his hands up in defeat.

“ _Fasta vass_. I'll be down in a minute!” The exasperated man yells. Solas smiles in triumph. It was a small victory, but one he would take nonetheless.

Hardly a minute goes by before Dorian shuffles dramatically towards Solas' desk; panting like he's just run from one side of the Hinterlands to the other.

“I'm absolutely _parched_ after all those stairs,” he says as he reaches for Solas' mug. Solas raises an eyebrow as he watches Dorian raise it to his lips and take a sip. As soon as he tastes the liquid inside, he spits it back into the mug.

“What in the world is that _heinous_ concoction?” Dorian gasps as he scrunches up his face and looks into the mug with complete disdain. Solas looks up nonchalantly.

“If you would have bothered to ask first, I would have told you it is a special herbal brew of mine that helps improve concentration.”

“Well- blergh!” Dorian says as he sticks out his tongue and makes a sour face. Solas watches in amusement as the man before him shudders in disgust.

“However do you drink it?” Dorian asks when he has finished complaining.

“In much the same way,” Solas replies. He absolutely despises tea, but under normal circumstances, the brew helps. It was debatable whether or not it was helping now.

“Well, you can keep it,” Dorian states as he places the mug back down in front of Solas and scoops the tome up into his arms. Solas scrunches up his face slightly at the sight of the other man's spit in his drink.

“That's very kind of you,” Solas says sarcastically. Dorian waves him off, then makes his way back over to the staircase. When he's finally free of the Tevinter's presence, he sighs and slouches in his chair. He's hardly been able to get any sleep, and the headache resonating behind his brows is starting to increase in it's severity as the hours go on. Eventually, he rises and makes little progress on the fresco. The standing makes his back ache, and a headache spreads from one temple to the other.

There is one way for him to get some much needed rest, but he has tried to avoid leaving Skyhold unnecessarily; he knows that his movements are watched by Leliana's agents. He's sure that the spy-master thinks that all of her agents are inconspicuous, but Solas could spot them from a mile away. They're all trying so hard to not look like they're looking, they might as well stand in the middle of the courtyard and yell what they are. Still, a strategically placed fade-cloak will make them none the wiser to his whereabouts.

He retrieves his coat and staff from his quarters, then cloaks himself and leaves. Leliana may think that she is the one in control, but Solas knows the way she works.

Her agents _never_ notice a thing.

–

It takes almost an hour to reach the precarious ledge that leads to the long abandoned cave that is his destination. The perks of not having any friends (except two; Evelyn and Cole, but one wasn't going to seek him out any time soon, and the other had set himself the monumental task of staying with the soldiers that had returned from Adamant and trying to heal their hurt as much as he could) at Skyhold meant that when he slips away for a couple of hours at a time, he is not missed.

He continues on; climbing up the icy rocks as carefully as he can manage, and gritting his teeth against the frosty wind that is intent on blowing back his hood and assailing his face. As much as he hates the sand that always seemed to lodge itself where it isn't wanted, he often longs for the warmth of the Western Approach and the Forbidden Oasis. He lets his mind dwell on pleasant thoughts of the soothing surround of the Intrinsic Pool as he shimmies through the narrow opening that would leave to the cavern some way within the mountain. When the long, dark path ahead greets him, he summons fire into his palm and advances further into the mountainside. The silence unsettles him, and he realises how much he has come to find the bustle of Skyhold endearing (even if it did make him murderous on occasion).

Eventually, the narrow pass expands into a small cavern, and Solas sighs as he's finally able to stretch out to his full height and comfortably put his arms by his sides again.

Shuffling against the dusty ground a few metres behind him instantly puts him on alert.

He swings around quickly; hand raised and flames readied, only to be squealed at by a terrified nug, who quickly bolts back towards the entrance of the cave.

“Sorry, friend,” Solas calls out to the retreating animal regardless of whether it was listening or not. He always has thought that nugs were quite cute. When the small creature is out of sight, he turns back to the small area in front of him, and makes his way towards the eluvian that was held in place by two large rocks. He drapes his coat over the rock to his left, and drops his pack at the base of it. He gathers energy in both of his palms, then places them against the cold rippled glass, which becomes warm against his skin, but does not activate. He focuses harder; squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to visualise his energy becoming one with the eluvian.

Still, there is no progress. He swears under his breath, and drops down beside his pack. He tilts his skull back against the rock, and winces as something sharp pokes into his skin. He had been returning to this eluvian twice a month, and still, he had not even come close to activating it. He knew that he would be weak after uthenera, but he had not anticipated said weakness lasting for so long. He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose as his thoughts turned back to the orb that he had so carelessly lost to Corypheus. He turns his head until it was in a more comfortable position, then closes his eyes. Although much of the landscape had changed since he had walked as Fen'Harel, he could still remember the position of every eluvian that he had ever used. Unfortunately, knowing the locations was worth exactly nothing when he was still too weak to use them. His irritation at his weakness also means that he can not nap in the silent cave as planned.

Resigned to the fact that he's not going to get anywhere in any sense of the word, he slowly stands and gathers his belongings. When he leaves, he casts another ward at the entrance just in case.

–

As soon as he returns to the rotunda, he is accosted by a messenger.

“I've looked all over Skyhold for you, ser!” The panting unmarked elven male says as he slouches and cups a hand over his side. Solas glances over his shoulder to give the messenger his attention at the sight of the man's deeply furrowed brow, Solas turns all of the way to face him.

“What is it?”

“The Lady Inquisitor had some urgent business to take care of at the Storm Coast. She called for your presence as a companion, along with the Iron Bull and Ser Pavus, but nobody was able to find you.” The elf explains. Solas instantly regrets leaving even for a moment.

“Ah. I was collecting some herbs from near the refugee camps below the hold to use in some teas.” The lie comes easily, as they always do. The messenger nods in acceptance.

“Of course, Ser. I thought as much when I saw your paints were still out, and reported back to the Inquisitor. She had me fetch Lady Sera instead.” The mage is shifting from foot to foot like he desperately needs to use the chamberpot, and Solas feels his headache coming back.

“Are you aware of the details of the expedition?” Solas asks as he notices a small golden envelope in the messenger's hand.

“The qunari want to forge an alliance with the Inquisition, ser. I was not informed of any more details.” The messenger looks apologetic. Solas feels his blood run cold at the mention of an alliance with the horned beasts.

“I see. Thank you. Was there anything else?” Solas asks as his gaze moves to the now severely crinkled envelope. The messenger looks down too, and his eyes widen when they fall upon the envelope.

“Oh! Yes! The Inquisitor said to give you this,” the messenger replies as he hastily shoves the envelope towards Solas. He places his paint palette down onto the floor, then takes it.

“Good day, ser.” The messenger says as he gives Solas a half bow and hurries back towards the main hall. Solas stares at the envelope for a few moments, before a screeching crow draws his gaze towards the rookery. He catches Leliana's eye for a brief moment before she steps backwards and out of view.

He decides to open the envelope in the privacy of his own quarters.

–

He gives himself a paper cut as he opens the envelope. It's so much of a ridiculous coincidence that he can't help but laugh out loud. Once he has stemmed the bleeding with his own magic, he gently pulls the small piece of parchment out and unfolds it. The neat, cursive handwriting is written in dark red ink.

_Solas,_   
_I am terribly sorry for the ill-considered events that transpired between us the other night. It was unbecoming of me to put you in such a position where you felt inclined to spend time in my bed. I was hoping that I would have had a chance to speak with you about it on the way to the Storm Coast, however Bull insisted that the alliance with the qunari was time sensitive, so I had to fetch Sera when you couldn't be found instead._   
_I understand if you do not feel like the Inquisition is a suitable home for you any more. If you plan on leaving, please let me know and I will have Josephine arrange accommodation for you wherever you please._   
_If you decide to stay, however, I am available at your convenience when I return should you need to speak with me. If you would like to forget the matter and never speak of it again, I will join you in that course of action._   
_Sorry again._   
_Evelyn._

Solas reads the letter six more times; his frown increasing as he does so until his eyes are squinting at the words that have seemed to have melded into one indecipherable chunk of ink.

Was that really how she felt? Like he had given her a pity fuck to try and stub out her grief? He'd done many a questionable thing, but he had never toyed with someone's physical affections. He had given his own out on his own terms, and he had always made sure that when they were given to him, it was by a sober and willing person.

_Ah._

Therein lay the cause for his unsettled stomach. They could've lain together after a banquet for visiting nobles in the main hall; touches exchanged underneath the table and coy glances exchanged above the table would have lit a flame in both of their abdomens, and they would've sighed each other's names into the night long after the hall had been cleared and the nobles had fallen asleep. They could've lain together after a long study session in the library; hands brushing against each other as they turned each page, knees knocking against each other as they looked over a tome building the tension between them until they retired to her quarters and he taught her what he _really_ knows.

There had been plenty of opportunities- he had been blind to them when they had happened, but now that the things that had happened between them had happened, he realised just how many times she had tried to inform him of her... fondness for him. Little innuendos and excessive compliments paid to him at Haven should have told him that she wanted more. Small touches and gifts of herbs and tomes from her travels with other companions should have told him, too. The way her eyes lit up every time he smiled at her or indulged her requests for more stories about the fade and magic and ancient elves definitely should have told him – she had gone to him too often for it to be considered friendly. He'd seen the way other's eyes had glazed over when he'd begun speaking. She was the only one whose eyes got brighter.

And yet, he'd chosen to indulge her during a completely inappropriate time. They'd been streaked in the blood of what he was certain was her first love, for creator's sake. She'd needed something physical to help the mental hurt, and he should've been the one to stop it. Now, when she thought of her first time with him, she would think of the death of her old lover and a freezing, harsh evening. Pain would come first in her mind, and pleasure would come second. He was forever linked to an event that was probably one of the most traumatic events of her life.

He feels sick.

He lets the letter fall to the floor, then placed his elbows on his thighs and his face in his hands. He did have a record of fucking up spectacularly, he supposed. He just hadn't expected to fuck up with someone he-

He stops the train of thought before it could continue. He cared deeply for her. That was as far as it had come, and as far as it could go.

Solas sits in his room; face pressed into the palms of his hands and body rigid until the bell in the bell tower was rung eight times to let the inhabitants of Skyhold know that dinner was being served in the main hall for the nobles and the Inquisitor's inner circle and at the Herald's Rest for everyone else. He rose slowly; although he was too sombre to have an appetite, he could not let himself waste away.

Not when he still had so much to do.

–

Like he usually does, Solas chooses to eat his meal in the Herald's Rest. Although it's packed full of people, it lacks the air of arrogance and elitism that eating in the main hall has.

He pities Evelyn- he knew that she would not enjoy eating around the pompous Orlesians. He's often seen the way her eyes darken slightly and her jaw tenses with words that she's fighting to hold back when she has to engage them with excessively polite conversation.

“Hello!” Cole greets him cheerfully from his cross-legged position on the floor as Solas finishes his ascension to the dusty and neglected top level of the tavern.

“Hello, Cole. May I join you?” Solas asks as he uses his free hand to gesture to the chair beside the chest of Cole's belongings.

“Yes", Cole replies as he tilts his head slightly and raps his fingertips against his knee.

“Thank you,” Solas says as he lowers himself into the chair and rests his bowl of vegetable soup in his lap. The warmth radiating from the porcelain bowl helps thaw out the chill he caught on his legs on his way from the main hall to the tavern, but his shoulders are still hunched from the freezing air that seems to penetrate any and all types of clothing, no matter how many layers one had on.

He eats in a comfortable silence beside the spirit boy. He glances down at his half finished meal, and regrets that he did not take a small buttered roll from the banquet to dip into it. He's barely finished thinking about it before a soft, buttered, round roll is thrust towards him.

“Thank you, Cole. That is very kind of you.” Solas gives the boy a genuine smile as he takes the roll and dips half of it into his soup. Cole grins at him- always glad to help, then returns to his position on the floor.

He makes it to the last mouthful before Cole speaks again.

“You didn't hurt her. You helped her. The grief was forgotten for a while, like it never existed. You left, but she didn't want to be alone, even in her sleep.”

Solas sighs an exhale through his nose. He should have known it was only a matter of time before Cole felt the need to comment on the incident.

“I would prefer not to speak of this, Cole. It is... a private matter.” Solas says gently as he turns to look at the boy. Cole's counsel has been well received before, but Solas does not want it now- especially when he very much doubts that he did any helping. Cole stares at him with wide eyes for a moment, before he drops his gaze to his lap and nods ever so slightly.

Solas rises, and moves towards the stairs.

“Thank you for coming here.” Cole calls after him. Solas isn't sure what exactly he means by here- there's probably a hundred different variations of here in Cole's mind, but Solas nods anyway before making his way down the stairs. The second level is bustling with people, and he has to hunch his shoulders in to be able to move past the assorted bodies. He moves around the balcony to get to the stairs that will take him down to the first level when he hears something that stops him in his tracks.

“The Inquisitor's a bit of alright, yeah?” Solas glances over his shoulder to see group of young human soldiers surrounding a table that he had just passed.

“A _bit?_ She's frigging _gorgeous!_ ” A woman responds.

“Did ya see the portrait that Ambassador Montilyet commissioned of her in her gown for the Winter Palace? Looks like she could've been the maker's bride herself!” A man with a thick Starkhaven accent adds.

“Bloody hell, don't tell Rowan about that, he's already bloody obsessed with her. You should see 'im every time she walks past the training drills. 'E's all _'yes ma'am, lovely to see you ma'am'_. Bloody kiss arse, 'e is.” The woman teases. The table erupts into laughter.

“Yeah, not like she'd notice 'im, though. Heard she's got a thing with the Vint.”

Somebody snorts.

“The Vint? You've got it all wrong. That big qunari's got a thing with the Vint, not the Inquisitor,” the woman snorts.

“Well I heard that she's got a thing with the commander. She visits him real often,” an unfamiliar voice pipes up.

“Nah, he's laced up too tight to get any. The idiot wouldn't know if someone was flirting with him if they explicitly stated it right to his stupid, gorgeous, oblivious face.” The woman sounds irritated.

“Ohhh, someone's got a thing for 'im, then?” The Starkhaven man teases. The others snicker.

“Shut up,” the woman retorts just loud enough for Solas to hear. He doesn't know why he's still listening; he hears lots of pointless banter throughout the hold each day.

Never about her, though.

“Well, if the Commander isn't interested in you, Mel, I think the Inquisitor should go for 'im. They'd make some _gorgeous_ babies.”

Solas' feels the rage burning hot in his throat. He knows it's an overreaction; the scouts are just blowing off steam after what was probably a long day with some harmless banter, but he can't stand the thought of Cullen touching her. He turns and braces one hand on the balcony railing as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“ _What?_ No way. Her an' me'd make great babies, and even if we didn't? Well, there's no 'arm in trying until we get it right.” The table erupts into snickers, and Solas can't take it any more. He pushes through the few people between him and the table, and leers over the soldiers. They frown in confusion at first, until they realise who he is.

“You'd do well to speak about the Inquisitor with the respect she deserves. She is not some worthless being for you to defile with your disgusting comments,” he growls. The table is silent as all who are seated there stare at him with open mouths.

“She- I- we-” a man starts.

“Be _quiet_. Remember that without her, demons would have killed you by now. Without her, you would not have a safe home here. She risks her life for you almost every day, and yet this is how you think she deserves to be spoken of? Do not speak of her in such ways again.” Solas makes sure that the words come out as threatening as possible; which isn't hard, considering the way he already towers over them.

“Y-yes, ser. S-sorry, ser. We didn't mean nothin' by it,” the woman eventually stammers.

“I would hope not,” Solas hisses. He gives the group a hard glare, before turning away from them.

He wishes she took him with her.


	7. the wheel of fortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to update - health issues mean I've been too exhausted to write anything worth reading. I hope you enjoy this! Thank you for sticking around <3

When Evelyn finally returns from The Storm Coast, almost a fortnight has passed. He watches from the bridge that stretches from the rotunda to Cullen's office as Evelyn and her companions trudge back in. He doesn't see the Bull for a moment; and his chest tightens in hope. It evens out again when he spots the massive qunari strolling through the gates with his Chargers surrounding him. He frowns in irritation that the Bull yet graces Skyhold with his presence, then turns his gaze back to Evelyn.

She looks exhausted. He can see it even from his position – dark circles around her eyes, sullen complexion, and a slight shuffle to her step.

Dorian and Sera are positioned either side of her, and they're yelling jokes at each other across Evelyn, who is unfortunately stuck in the middle of their banter. She glances around at the crowd that has gathered to welcome them back, and gives them the most obviously forced smile that Solas has ever seen. The crowd, however, is oblivious as they shout cheers and welcomes to her. When Evelyn makes it to the base of the stairs below, she looks up at Solas. He's unsure whether to smile or wave or do nothing at all, so he settles for a slight nod, which she promptly returns before ascending the first flight of stone steps. Solas returns to the rotunda, and waits for her to visit, like she always does with everyone in her inner circle that she didn't take with her when she returns from a mission.

Three hours later, he's still waiting, so he wanders into the main hall and glances around.

“War room,” Varric states from Solas' left without looking up from the piece of parchment in front of him.

“Pardon?” Solas asks.

“She's in the war room,” Varric says again as he lifts his quill and points it in the appropriate direction. Solas frowns down at the seated dwarf.

“I wasn't-”

Varric finally looks up, and gives him an infuriatingly smug look.

“Alright, Chuckles. Whatever you say,” the dwarf says with a shrug before looking back to his work. Solas sighs and strolls across the hall and into the antechamber. Josephine is not present at her desk, which means she must still be in the war room with Evelyn. He continues into the hall that leads to the war room, and takes a seat on the stone bench that is placed just outside the door.

He suddenly feels very foolish, and immediately stands up again. It may very well make her nervous to see him sitting there in wait for her, and he doesn't want to add any extra stress – especially after she's spent hours in the war room enduring what is an undoubtedly dull and drawn out debriefing. Solas turns to leave and resume his wait for her in the rotunda when the door behind him opens. He glances over his shoulder to see Bull exiting. The qunari peers down at him in suspicion with his one eye as he passes, but says nothing. He turns back to make his getaway again, until the heated discussion through the slightly ajar door reaches his ears.

“It was the right thing to do,” Evelyn insists.

“You may be right, but what of the extra soldiers we could've used? All of the extra weapons? I'm not a huge fan of the qunari either, but they could've brought a lot to the table,” Cullen replies; a hint of irritation in his question. Solas stills and strains his ears to hear through the thick wooden door. Had the alliance not been successful?

“With all dear respect, Commander, you weren't actually _there_. I wasn't going to stand there and let the Chargers die, and I sure as shit wasn't going to stand there and _watch_ them die, either!” Evelyn bites back.

“You both have fair points, but I believe-” Josephine starts.

“We have asked the Inquisitor to make many sacrifices and have placed an inordinate amount of responsibility on her shoulders. We have survived well without the qunari until now, and we can continue to do so,” Leliana interjects calmly. A few seconds of contemplative silence pass before Cullen sighs loudly.

“You're right. My apologies, Inquisitor. I stand behind you in whatever decisions you choose to make. You have led us well thus far. I am just concerned about any possible retaliation; we've had a huge boost to our numbers after Adamant, but I doubt that we would be able to take on the qunari should they decide to storm Skyhold,” Cullen explains.

“It will not come to that, I can assure you,” Evelyn responds. Solas can still hear the exasperation in her voice.

“I will send out extra scouts to monitor the area surrounding Skyhold if that would put you at ease, Cullen,” Leliana offers.

“Yes, thank you. I will station extra men at the camps below as well,” Cullen replies.

“Does this work for you, Inquisitor?” Josephine asks.

“Yes, I suppose. Do whatever it is you need to do,” Evelyn sighs. The conversation lapses back to a normal volume, and Solas attempts to make another retreat. This time, Blackwall enters from Josephine's antechamber. The bearded man looks upon him with surprise.

“Solas. Do you know if they're almost done in there yet? I need to speak to the Inquisitor,” he asks as he saunters towards Solas, who shakes his head.

“I do not believe so. They-” before Solas can finish, the door behind him opens again.

“I'll have Captain Ophelia co-ordinate my soldiers with your sc-” Cullen stops when he sights Solas and Blackwall. Leliana stops beside him, and Josephine runs her parchment board into the Commander's back at the unexpected delay. Cullen grunts and winces as he glances over his shoulder.

“ _Oh!_ ” Josephine gasps in surprise as her gold plated quill falls to the floor. It rolls towards Solas' feet, so he bends to pick it up for her.

“Thank you,” Josephine says politely as she moves around Leliana to take it from him.

“What's-” Evelyn says as she appears in the doorway to the war room to see what the fuss is all about. She briefly makes eye contact with Solas, then moves her gaze to Blackwall.

“I need to speak with you when you have time, my lady,” Blackwall says. Cullen turns back to Leliana, and resumes the conversation as they make their way towards the main hall. Josephine follows behind, muttering under hear breath and attempting to wipe off the spots of ink from the front of her tunic that had been spilled in the collision.

“Of course, Blackwall. I've got a few things to finish up in here, but I can come down to the stables or your quarters before dark?” Evelyn suggests. She doesn't acknowledge Solas.

“I'll be in the stables helping Dennet with the new mounts for the evening, so there would be suitable,” Blackwall says. Evelyn gives him a nod and a half smile, then the warden leaves. She watches his back until he disappears through the door, then slowly moves her gaze over to Solas.

“Solas,” she says quietly.

“Evelyn,” he greets as he links his hands behind his back.

“Is there something I can help you with?” She asks. Solas shakes his head.

“No, but it sounds like there may be something I can help you with,” he replies. Evelyn sighs and motions for him to follow her into the warm room. When she makes it to the large wooden table, she sighs again and leans on it with her palms. He moves towards the table cautiously; it is strange to see her at the head of a table that he had once used for his own purposes. It doesn't feel quite as strange as it did standing in the bedroom that was also once his, but it's still unsettling.

“Am I correct in assuming that an alliance was not forged?” He tries to keep the relief out of his voice as he speaks.

“Yes,” she responds simply. Her pointer finger taps against the table once, twice, three times, before she takes a step back and runs a hand through her greasy hair. He catches sight of dirt caked around her fingernails, and he briefly feels guilty that he is holding her up further from a well needed bath.

“I see. I am sorry,” he offers, even if he doesn't mean it. Evelyn shrugs.

“Don't be, I'm not. Like Leliana said, we've done fine without them so far. We'll be ok,” the last sentence sounds like a question, so he nods.

“Yes, we will be,” he says in confirmation. A small amount of tension seems to release from her shoulders. She reaches forward to pick up a a small metal envelope opener, and fiddles with it in her hands.

“So, was there something you needed? Or, um, did you just, ah, come to see how the mission went?” She asks nervously as she fiddles with the small dagger like item even quicker between her fingers. Solas eyes the pointy end nervously for a second before reaching out to take it from her grip. Evelyn looks up at him with wide eyes as he gently places it back onto the table. He had thought that her nerves would rub off on him, but it's more endearing than infectious.

“I came to see how it went, and how you are,” Solas says. She raises an eyebrow as if she doesn't believe he would inquire about her well-being. The thought makes his chest ache – no matter how ill advised their night together was, he still _cares_ for her.

“I'm- I'm ok. Did you... have you read my letter?” Evelyn asks as she takes to fingering the edge of the map that is draped over the surface of the table.

“I did indeed. Would you like to talk about it?” He asks gently. He does not have anything to say about the incident, but he suspects that she might – so he leaves the air clear for her breath to take it, should she wish to.

She frowns, but says nothing for a few moments, until she abruptly steps back from the table and looks up at him and takes a deep breath.

“I just need to know if you plan to stay. I mean, it has been a couple of weeks since I left, but I assumed that you had taken that time to gather your belongings and find alternate accommodation,” she says.

“I have not considered leaving, however if that is your wish, I will do so,” Solas replies.

“What? N- no, that's not my wish. I'd lov- _like_ for you to stay. I just don't want things to be... awkward between us,” Evelyn explains as she folds her arms and leans the side of her hip against the table. Solas tries to keep his brows in a respectable position at her self correction.

“They need not be. We were friends before... it happened, we can be friends after, can we not?” Solas asks. She considers his question for a moment before nodding. She gives him a smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

“Yes, we can be. Thank you, Solas. I'd... I'd better finish up here then get up to my quarters and bathe before the evening comes. I'm filthy,” she says as she wrinkles up her nose as if she stinks (she doesn't, Solas notices).

“Of course. I will bid you goodnight, then,” Solas gives her a slight bow as he speaks. She returns the well wishes, then Solas leaves.

He feels her eyes on his back all the way to the door.

–

The following evening, the rotunda and the levels above seem unusually quiet.

“Dorian?” Solas calls up to the next level. There is no reply – which is odd, in itself. The Tevinter would never miss a possible chance to have an argument with him. Instead, Helisma appears at the railing, and glances down at him with that horrifying blank expression that the tranquils have.

“Ser Pavus has gone to the tavern to celebrate a birthday. I was informed to look after his belongings and ensure that any books, tomes, or parchments are returned to their correct position,” Helisma says. Her monotonous voice echoes loudly throughout the empty levels.

“Has the rest of Skyhold gone there, too?” Solas asks sarcastically.

“I do not believe all of Skyhold would fit into the tavern,” Helisma answers. Solas thanks her and waves her off before he can't bear to look at the brand on her forehead any longer. The mages in this time are practically tranquil compared to what they were in his time, and the fact that magic is taken away from mages thoroughly disgusts him. It is a mutilation of the mind, and if he had the authority to do so, he would put anyone who took part in making mages tranquil to death. Such unnecessary measures shems (and qunari – he shudders at the thought of their saarebas; even though he does not care much for the horned race, his blood still boils at their treatment of those blessed with magic) take when they are frightened and ignorant.

He pushes the thoughts of the abuse from his mind, and returns to the small piece of parchment that he is drawing on. His pencil curves around the horns of a halla; slowly and with practised precision. It's nice to take a break from the intensity of the fresco; sketching freely has always helped to settle his mind.

His head snaps up when the door to his left is swung open, and Sera and Dagna practically tumble into the rotunda. When they spot him, they both straighten up.

“Oh! Hello!” The dwarf greets him; her rounded cheeks more flushed than usual.

Solas sighs and sets his pencil down. An ache begins to throb at his temples.

“Do you two need something?” He asks. Sera snorts.

“Nah, we were just tryin' ta find a free room, yeah? Come on, Widdle, this one's taken by Mister Broody Arse,” Sera says as she jabs her elbow into her dwarven companion's shoulder.

“The under-croft! It's long past Harrot's bedtime!” Dagna suggests. Sera squeals excitedly and they both skip off arm in arm towards the main hall. When Sera's screeching finally fades, Solas picks up his pencil again. He's barely managed to put it to the parchment again before the door to the main hall swings open.

“What is it now?” He says in exasperation. He looks up to see Evelyn standing in the doorway.

“Oh, I'm sorry, am I disturbing you?” She asks with a genuine look of concern on her face.

“I apologise. I thought you were Sera,” Solas explains as he waves her over. She slowly moves towards his desk, and grips the back of the chair opposite him. She opens her mouth to speak, but her eyes catch on the drawing.

“Wow, that's _beautiful_ , Solas,” she comments as she leans down slightly to get a closer look. The smell of Antivan brandy hits him immediately. He supposes that with everyone getting so drunk, he might be able to get some quiet reading time in the next morning.

“Thank you,” Solas replies. She stares at it for a few more seconds before rapping her knuckles against the chair.

“So... why aren't you in the tavern?” Evelyn questions.

“Should I be?”

She laughs as if he's just asked the stupidest question in Thedas.

“Yes!” She shouts with a giant grin. Solas smiles at her enthusiasm and leans back in his chair. It is not often that his company is requested around Skyhold.

“And to what occasion is everybody drinking to?” He asks. She glances around the room, then puts her palm to one side of her mouth.

“It's... it's Iron Bull's birthday. Well, it was his birthday last week, but he says he forgot about it. Josephine reminded him. He's telling everyone he's thirty, but I think we both know that's a lie,” she says through her snickering. _Ah_. That would explain why he was not invited, then.

“I see,” He says as he glances back down to his sketch and begins laying down the rough lines for the second set of horns.

“Well? Are you coming?” She asks impatiently after watching him work for a few moments.

“I was not invited,” Solas states. Evelyn blows a raspberry. A small bead of her spit lands right in the centre of his drawing, and he looks up at her.

“Well _I'm_ inviting you, and I'm the Inquisitor,” she says as she places her hands on her hips in an attempt to assert her authority. She's so small and not intimidating that the sight is completely comical.

“I will pass, falon, but thank you for the thought,” he says as he returns his gaze to his drawing and carefully wipes away the bead of spit.

“I don't know what that word means and I'm pretty sure you just insulted me, but come on Solas!” Evelyn whines as she stomps from foot to foot in a mock tantrum.

“No,” he says whilst trying to conceal his smile. She rounds the desk to stand behind his chair, and puts her hands on his shoulders.

“Solas, _pleeeeeeeease!_ ” She says as she shakes him. Solas feels his headache coming back, but he laughs despite it. She is being silly, but it is a nice change from the nervousness and seriousness from the previous day. It feels like they are friends again.

“Evelyn!” Solas groans as she gives him one more shake.

“I'm _begging_ you. Everyone's been talking about playing a game of Diamondback in teams, and I know how much you _love_ beating everyone in Diamondback!” Solas straightens at the mention of the game.

“Oh?” He says. He can almost hear Evelyn's self satisfied grin at being able to get his interest.

“Yes! I need you on my team. Come on, it'll be hilarious watching everyone else running back to their quarters with only a mug for their shame!” She laughs as she moves to his left side and pulls at his arm. Solas scrunches up his face in displeasure as he remembers the last time he'd taken Blackwall for everything he'd had during a game and the man had run back to his quarters with just a well placed bucket to cover his shame. Evelyn shrieks with laughter at his expression.

He sighs.

“Oh, alright,” he says as he lets her pull him to his feet.

–

An hour later, everyone except for Solas, Varric, Josephine, and Evelyn are sitting in their small clothes. As the game had gone on, everyone had gotten progressively drunker and progressively sloppier in their strategies; most of all Sera and Dagna, who had somehow returned from the under-croft even drunker than when they had stumbled through the rotunda.

“I can't believe this is happening _again_ ,” a mostly naked and totally embarrassed Cullen mutters in an angry aside to Varric beside him.

“You always bring this on yourself, Curly,” Varric shrugs before taking another sip from his flagon.

“Is this really fair? Bull hardly wears any clothes. His shame factor isn't as shameful as ours,” Dorian complains as he holds his pointer fingers over his nipples and glares at Bull across the table.

“Aw, I thought you'd love a chance to show off,” Bull teases. Dorian narrows his eyes.

“Usually, yes, however my nipples do not appreciate the attention of the Frostback air. I'm just glad Cole so kindly volunteered his level for us to use so nobody down there can see this terrible excuse for a game of strategy. It wouldn't do well for the masses to see their illustrious leaders so compromised,” Dorian says as he places his palms over his rock hard nipples. Evelyn leans against Solas' side, and he automatically tenses when her thigh presses against his own.

“Alright, now we've just gotta take down Varric and Josie,” Evelyn whispers.

“It may be an impossible task,” Solas whispers back. He makes eye contact with Varric, who gives him a smug wink. Evelyn stretches up to get closer to his ear. Her breast brushes against his arm.

“How do you feel about... me giving us a push in the right direction?” Evelyn mumbles. Varric sighs in contentment and leans back in his chair.

“I'd just like to take this moment to thank all of you for paying my publishing costs for my next book,” Varric says, and everyone groans.

“Shut _up_ , Varric,” Cassandra snaps as she crosses her arms across her black breast-band.

“I feel fine about it,” Solas replies as the Seeker and the dwarf bicker amongst themselves. Evelyn moves away to sit up straight in her seat, and slides one hand under the table, directly underneath where her and Solas' cards lay face down. She places her other hand on top of them.

“Oh, Varric. It should be me who is thanking you – after all, I'm going to be able to buy that tiny bear from Xenon when we're done here,” Evelyn teases. Cassandra looks offended.

“There will be _no_ bears, tiny or otherwise, in Skyhold,” the Seeker says.

“We'll see about that, won't we?” Evelyn winks at Cassandra, who makes a noise of disgust.

“I believe it's your turn, Team Cullwall?” Evelyn says as she tilts her head across the table towards Cullen and Blackwall. The two men exchange a hopeless glance.

“We're out. There's only one bucket for both of our bits, and it's much too small,” Blackwall jokes as he pushes his and Cullen's coin towards the centre of the table. The table erupts in laughter at the unsubtly of the joke.

“Alright, alright. Cullwall's out. Jarric, you're up!” Evelyn says to Varric and Josephine. The two give each other a conspiratorial look before Varric picks up the cards. Josephine leans in to whisper something to him, and the dwarf nods. He confidently lays his remaining five cards on the table, and everyone gasps at the impressive hand.

“If I'm not mistaken, if team Evelas can't come through this go, you lose it all,” Varric says as he leans back and folds his arms across his burly chest.

Then, Solas feels it. There's heat or – _something_ strange that he can't quite identify, radiating from Evelyn. He glances around the table to see if anyone has noticed the subtle shift in the air, but they're all too preoccupied with accepting their defeat and pushing their coins into the centre of the table. As quickly as it came, her energy dissipates completely, and she scoops up the cards in her hand. Solas glances at their cards, and raises a brow. They're completely different to what they were during their last turn.

“I'd like to thank Varric for always organising such satisfying bonding sessions. Truly, it's been an absolute pleasure getting to know all of you like this. Chauncey, here I come, buddy!” Evelyn says triumphantly as she lays the cards down on the table. There's whooping and screeching and laughing as Varric and Josephine's faces fall and Evelyn puts her arms either side of the pile of coins, then scoops them towards her.

“Well done!” A shirtless, yet happy, Cole says over the noise from beside Cassandra.

“Maker's _balls_ ,” Varric says as his fingers reluctantly go to the clasp of his tunic.

“Take it off! Take it off!” Sera chants. Evelyn turns back to Solas; grinning in satisfaction that her little trick worked.

“Risky,” Solas mutters, but he can't help grinning back at her. Evelyn shrugs one shoulder and flicks a coin at him.

“There's hardly any rewards that do not come without a risk,” she says.

–

“I just... Andraste's _tits_. Did we really have to come here _today?_ ” Varric groans as he squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his forehead. Cassandra grunts in agreement beside him.

“Of course we did! Aren't you having fun? Look at all of this beautiful snow and... and the red lyrium!” Evelyn says as she holds one arm and uses the other to point towards a small vein of lyrium nestled in between two large rocks alongside the path. Cassandra sighs and takes her maul to it; easily smashing it into thousands of tiny, dead pieces despite her hangover.

“Cruel. Just cruel. First you take all of my coin, then my shirt, and now you make us come here?” Varric says dramatically.

“The Inquisitor was a tyrant, they will say,” Cassandra mutters to Varric as she returns to the group to trudge along behind Evelyn. Varric snorts.

“Hey, I didn't force you to pour all of that drink down your throat last night. You should've followed my example and only had a few,” Evelyn teases as she waggles a finger in the air at them. Solas lets his lips turn up at one corner as Evelyn dances around Varric, who shoots out a hand to try and catch her. Unfortunately for him, he's too hungover to be quick enough.

“You're lucky we're going to hit Sahrnia soon. You guys have gotta get some rest before we try and take on the red templars,” Evelyn switches back to seriousness as she walks alongside Cassandra.

“We will be fine, Inquisitor. We have fought in worse condition,” Cassandra references the night at Haven, where they had all been jerked out of their drunken celebration by Corypheus' unexpected visit. Sera had vomited numerous times during the fight; the adrenaline and fear brought on by the fight unsettling her stomach and hurling her straight from drunk to hungover.

“Do not remind me,” Solas adds. He'd unfortunately witnessed that first hand.

“Yes, thanks, Varric. Just when I thought I'd forgotten treading in Sera vomit whilst running for my life from a bunch of red templars,” Evelyn winces as she casts Solas a sidelong glance. Varric laughs.

“My present to you, Inquisitor,” the dwarf holds out an arm like Evelyn had earlier.

“You can bloody keep it, thanks,” Evelyn laughs as she playfully bumps into Varric's side.

–

After a couple of hours rest at the camp in town, they'd been able to cut through the red templars with ease; even managing to make it all the way to Drakon's Rise just as the sun had begun to set. The behemoth there fell easier than expected, which had seemed to invigorate the hungover Seeker and dwarf, which was unfortunate considering it was reaching time to settle in for the evening.

The Inquisition scouts had efficiently destroyed and removed the red lyrium near the camp-site when Evelyn had taken them to explore the surrounding area, and had also set up the tents for them. The Inquisition soldiers had even brought kegs of water and clean cloths for them to bathe with should they want to re-purpose the healing tent for such a task. Evelyn had jumped at the idea before one of the soldiers had even gotten the kegs into the tent – she'd dived into the large tent and taken Cassandra with her, which meant Solas had been left at the fire with Varric. He could feel the dwarf's eyes on him as he ate.

“So,” Varric starts, and Solas knows from his tone what he's going to ask.

“What's the deal with you and the Inquisitor?” Varric asks as casually as possible as one could when sticking their nose where it was not wanted.

“The 'deal'?” Solas repeats through a mouthful of marinated ram meat. It had been sent by the thankful villagers, and it was absolutely superb. He had hoped to get through the meal without any conversation being made, but alas, it was Varric.

“Yeah, you know, the deal. As in, is there something going on?” Varric says as he waves his fork in the air.

“No,” Solas replies firmly before shovelling another forkful of food into his mouth.

“Right,” the dwarf says with a smirk. Solas frowns at him, then looks back to the fire in front of him. Varric manages to stay silent for almost three minutes before attempting to pester him again.

“It's just that-”

“ _No_ ,” Solas repeats. A high pitched squeal sounds from the healing tent, and both men get to their feet. At the sound of Cassandra making an exasperated noise and Evelyn's maniacal laughter, they both sit down again. Thankfully, Varric lets him finish his meal in peace, then wanders off into his own tent. Solas moves over to the stone pot that is over the fire, and dishes out a meal for Evelyn. He returns to his seat, and waits for her to emerge. Cassandra does so first; the harsh lines of her face looking a little softer as she climbs into the tent beside Varric's. A few minutes later, Evelyn emerges; clad in a clean clothes and a giant fur coat. She smiles when she sees him.

“Are you hungry?” Solas asks as he holds the bowl out towards her.

“I'm _starving_ ,” she sighs as she plops down on the bench beside him. She wiggles up to his side, and presses herself against him in a blatant attempt to pilfer whatever body heat she can from him.

“ _Brrrr_ ,” she says as she brings a forkful of food to her mouth with shaky, frozen hands.

“It is a most unpleasant place to be,” Solas comments as he watches her eat. She nods in agreement. He sits with her until she is finished, and moves to take her bowl from her when she is done. She pulls it back with a scowl.

“Last I checked, Solas, you're not _actually_ my elven manservant,” she tries to tease about the title given to him by the arrogant nobles at Halamshiral, but her unintentionally flippant tone makes it cuts a little deeper than he expected it to. Solas nods and pulls his hands away.

“I apologise. I was only trying to help,” he explains. Evelyn's eyes widen when she realises how insensitive she had sounded.

“I'm _really_ sorry. That was a very rude thing to say,” she apologises as she places a hand on his forearm. He can feel her ice cold fingers even through his own furs.

“You've always been good to me, Solas. Thank you,” she says as she leans towards him to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“I...” he trials off, unsure of what to say. They hold eye contact for a moment, before she rises from the bench to place her bowl in the metal pot full of clean water beside the fire. When she turns back to him, she gives him a sad smile.

“Goodnight, Solas,” she says before wrapping her coat tighter around herself and shuffling off to her own tent on the opposite side of the camp. He catches sight of two scouts up on one of the platforms looking down at him. When they see him looking, they pretend to be looking at a piece of paper that one is holding. Solas rolls his eyes; it's a pity that Leliana cannot transfer some of her own experience to the Inquisition's scouts – they are _never_ subtle.

Eventually, the flames from the fire start to dwindle and he decides to have a quick wash before he retires. He retrieves clean clothes from his tent (which is beside Evelyn's – so he is as quiet as possible), then steps into it. There's a couple of small wooden crates to stand on surrounded by a metal pan to catch the water if one desires a proper shower, and Solas decides to utilise them. He undresses, hangs his clothes up over the rack near the tent flap, then dips his hand into the barrel of clean water and lets heat radiate from his hands. He picks up the small bucket from the hook on the front of the barrel, then pours the warm water over himself.

No matter how many times Solas pours the water over his head, the spot on his cheek where Evelyn had pressed her freezing lips to stays as cold as the ice outside.

–

He cannot sleep. He feels _itchy_ \- but itchy inside like he needs to move. Unfortunately for him, he'll have to wait until morning before he can – he does not wish to have the scouts tracking his movements. He strains his ears as his tent flap rustles. An animal? There was that time in the Emerald Graves when a nug had chewed through his tent and he had woken up to the creature curled up beside him.

“Hello?” He calls out – softly enough so as not to wake Evelyn, but loud enough to deter any potential small intruder.

“Solas?” Evelyn whispers back. Solas immediately sits up. A small intruder, indeed, but luckily one that will not soil his bedroll and chew on his tunic.

“Solas? Can I come in?” She asks. He can hear her teeth chattering in the silence between her question and his answer. He flips his blanket off of his legs, and crawls on his knees towards the tent's entrance. He unlaces the folds, and peels the heavy canvas apart. The resulting hit of cold air immediately chills him to the bone.

“Hurry!” Solas says as he falls onto his backside to allow her room to enter. Evelyn tumbles in ungracefully as she attempts to pull off her boots upon entry, and swears when her bare foot gets caught on a lace. The small lantern hooked on the tent room above them swings violently from the disturbance. Solas leans forward, and helps unhook her. He tries not to laugh.

“Tha-a-anks,” she stammers as he tries to tie the tent back up as quickly as possible.

“Are you alright? He asks when he moves back onto his bedroll. The single tents are quite small, but another bed roll could probably fit against his if worst came to worst.

“I c-can't sl-e-ep. I'm too fuck-ing c-c-c-cold,” she says as she raises her shoulders and lowers her head in an attempt to get further into her coat. This time he does laugh; she looks like an angry bird fluffing itself up.

“What's so f-f-f-funny?” She says through gritted teeth. Solas says nothing, only smiles and shakes his head as he takes a blanket from his bedroll and drapes it around her. She slides a hand out of her coat and snatches both ends to pull it as tightly as possible around her. Even in the dim candlelight, he can see that her lips are blue.

“I will get your bedroll if you wish to stay here tonight,” Solas offers as he reaches for his boots. Usually he would not bother, but with the small risk of red lyrium shards cutting his feet, he does not want to go barefoot.

“Y-y-yes, please,” she says as she frantically nods her head. He puts on his boots, then unlaces the tent again. He runs to her tent, unlaces the cords quicker than he's ever done anything in his life, then dives in and snatches her bedroll and whatever blankets he can hold.

“Can you please re-lace the Inquisitor's tent?” He calls over his shoulder to the two perplexed scouts that are placing more wood onto the camp-fire. He doesn't wait for a response (and doesn't care for their inevitable gossiping, either) before he dives back into his own tent. Evelyn lets out a chuckle as he falls into it just as gracefully as she did.

“Quick! Lace it up!” Solas orders, and she rocks forward onto her knees to do as asked. Solas places her bedroll next to his as she works, and sets out her blankets. She hums in approval when she turns back and sees his work. She shrugs off her coat and places it beside her pillow, then slides underneath the blankets. Solas moves back under his own blankets, and wiggles until he is comfortable.

“Better?” He asks once Evelyn's teeth stop chattering.

“Much, thank you,” she replies sleepily. He smiles to himself as he closes his eyes and relaxes into the bedroll.

He can feel her looking at him. He opens his eyes, and turns his head towards her. She doesn't shy away from his gaze – instead she smiles. In that moment, with her hair fanned out around her and her skin illuminated with warmth under the candlelight – she is breath taking. Her lower lip is still softly trembling from her teeth's attempt to keep chattering.

“Come closer, if you desire,” he whispers. He doesn't know why, but he does. She wordlessly shuffles closer to him, and he rolls onto his side to face her. He thinks that she is going to stop at the edge of his bedroll, but she moves onto his until her face is only a couple of inches away from his. She presses the tops of her freezing feet against his legs and he inhales sharply.

“Sorry,” she says with a grin that he decides means she isn't sorry at all.

“You are not,” he says with a mock glare. She snickers and moves her feet away from him. They lapse into a comfortable silence as they stare at each other. Eventually, her eyes move to his lips and he knows what it really is she desires.

When she moves closer, he lets her. When she slides an arm around his middle, he lets her. When she softly presses her lips to his, he lets her. He expects her to be a hurricane; all force and wanting like the last time that they kissed, but she pulls away after only a few seconds. Evelyn moves her hand up to his face, and strokes his cheek. His brows pinch in the middle; he had not expected such tenderness from her. He had not expected anything from her, if he were honest. Her lips part as if she is about to say something, but they close again when she thinks better of it.

“We should not be,” he says weakly. He cannot deny that there is something between them any longer – she cannot just be his falon, nor he hers. He hopes that his weak protest will give her strength to say what he cannot and put an end to the strange thing that exists between them.

“I know, but I still want to,” she mumbles as she tucks her head under his chin and presses her body against his. He wraps an arm around her, and holds her small body close.

 _So do I_ , he thinks, as he waits until her small body relaxes in his arms and her breathing slows to follow her into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> falon - friend in Dalish


	8. justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven word translations for this chapter:  
> Venavis: stop.  
> Ma halani: help me.

He feels it call to him in his sleep. It's not so much words, more a feeling of resonating despair that seeps into every part of his unconscious being.

_“Venavis, venavis!”_

The words in his native tongue send worry through him. For a moment, the voice sounds familiar; like an old friend from days long since passed. Solas searches; lets his mind and body take him where he needs to go in the ever changing fade.

_“Ma halani!”_

He wanders frantically; the voice seeming oh so close but not close enough for him to respond to the distressed cries. He knows it's a spirit, now – he can feel the way the fade doesn't ripple with the intrusion of a mortal's mind as he moves through it.

“Where are you?” Solas asks, over and over again. The darkness in front of him lifts, and he sees the shimmering image of a wisp being held in a summoning circle. Three humans sit at each point of a triangle. They are chanting – Solas does not know the exact words, but he knows the intent straight away. The wisp turns to him.

 _“Ma halani,”_ it whispers before it fades completely. Solas has only the briefest glimpse of a rocky shore before the fade reinvents itself, and a field filled with vibrant flowers and frolicking golden halla from his youth is laid out before him – it's a place that he often visits, but one that he does not currently care for.

He wakes up.

Solas moves to sit up immediately, but a weight on his arm holds him down. He turns his head and comes face to face with a sleeping Evelyn. Her brow is furrowed slightly, but she shows no other signs of being disturbed by his jerky movement. Carefully, he extracts his arm from underneath her and sits up. He sits that way for a while in an attempt to slow down his racing heart. Even in the thick canvas tent, the air is cool against the sweat across his forehead.

“Solas, are you alright?” Evelyn asks quietly from behind him. He glances over his shoulder at her. She's propped herself up on one elbow, and her sleep-tousled hair covers half of her face. Her long sleeved bed tunic hangs off one dainty shoulder.

“Yes, I-” he pauses- unsure what to say, “I just had an unpleasant dream,” he settles on. It's not the truth, nor is it a lie. He turns back to rub at his temples again, but is taken by surprise when she gets out of the blankets and kneels behind him. Two small hands rest on his shoulders, then begin to massage their way towards the sides of his neck.

“You look tense. Let me help,” Evelyn says quietly.

He cannot deny that the touch feels heavenly, even though it is unexpected. He almost grunts in protest when she abruptly stops.

“I'm sorry, I didn't- is this ok to do?” Evelyn asks. Solas nods; the soothing effect of her motions apparent despite the short duration. He nods his head when words fail him. She eagerly returns her hands to his shoulders, and starts again. When the sides of her hands bump either side of his neck, she works her way up to the base of his skull with her thumbs; her nimble fingers skipping over the cord of his necklace so as not to catch on it.

Solas thinks he might have slipped back into the fade, but he cannot recall a memory such as this, and especially not one with her.

He tenses when her thumbs dig into a knot at the base of his neck, but she huffs in frustration when his necklace gets in the way. Without much thought, he quickly removes it and places it in his lap. He does not usually take it off, but he has been making many concessions lately.

“Solas, you've got a huge knot!” Evelyn exclaims as she resumes kneading it with her thumbs. Solas winces; it's painful, but he can feel the knot releasing almost instantly.

“I'm certain it's the bedroll pillows. They might as well have been filled with nothing with all of the support they give,” Evelyn mutters to herself. When she has kneaded the knot out of existence, she slides her hands down either side of his spine. One of her nails catches on the fabric of his cotton shirt, and Solas grunts when the neckline is yanked harshly against the front of his throat.

“Sorry!” Evelyn apologises immediately as she drops her hands to her thighs.

“There is no need to be sorry, it was an accident,” Solas reassures as he pulls the neckline back to a comfortable position. Evelyn is silent behind him.

“Evelyn?” he asks as he twists to glance back at her. For the first time since he had awoken from his uthenera, his neck does not twinge sharply when he turns.

“I can continue, if you like. You could... you could, um, take off your shirt, if you want. Then I can do your back properly,” Evelyn offers as her gaze flickers to and fro. Solas raises an eyebrow. A significant amount of time has passed since someone offered to do something like this for him. It is selfish to allow her, but the way all of his muscles ache he would regret it for the rest of the day if he were to refuse her.

“You _want_ to do that?” he asks, still in disbelief despite the fact that her fingers are already holding the hem of his shirt.

“Of course,” she replies quietly. He nods, turns his gaze forward, and lifts his arms. She pulls off his tunic with ease, and immediately sets back to her task once she has set the article of clothing on the bedroll beside them.

He has to bite his lip not to let out a groan at just how much more satisfying the massage feels without the layer of cloth in the way. Her soft hands glide over his skin easily; the heel of her hand digging into the space underneath his shoulder blades, then her thumbs work up to trace the blades in the shape of a crescent moon until she is back at his shoulders again. She pauses.

“Is this ok? Am I hurting you? You've been holding your breath,” Evelyn asks. Solas realises that he has indeed, and exhales heavily.

“It does not hurt at all, and it is more than ok. You have a gift,” he replies with a heavy tongue. Despite the affirmation, her hands still hover just above his skin.

“Please, continue if you wish to do so,” Solas says. Evelyn moves her hands back to his neck, and this time when her thumbs reach the base of his skull, she lightly rakes her fingertips up to the top of his skull.

He cannot hold in the grunt that escapes from his lips. When the fingertips of a second hand join in beside the first set, he clenches his fists in the blankets underneath him. Evelyn hums in approval.

“Good?” she asks breathlessly. Solas can do nothing but nod in reply. She continues lavishing his scalp with attention, and he continues to enjoy it. Her fingertips move outwards across his flesh towards his ears, and she lightly trails them back from his earlobes to the tips of his ears.

He immediately straightens as taut as a bowstring. He had not expected her to touch him there. Aside from the obvious places, his ears are extremely sensitive. He still feels the flush of heat that she had caused in the cartilage of the tips.

“Oh. I wasn't supposed to touch there, was I?” Evelyn whispers, and Solas can hear the underlying panic in her quick words.

 _No, no you are not_ , Solas thinks. It was once considered shameful to allow a shemlen to touch any part of you – let alone one's ears. He doesn't know what to think of it now; here, with her. She is hardly some unintelligible fool; she's shown him nothing but kindness and curiosity towards the things that are important to him. So much so, that he thinks that she now falls into that category, too.

“It is alright. I do not mind,” he eventually manages. Solas isn't exactly sure what he's feeling, but it doesn't cost him anything to comfort her.

“I'm sorry, it was wrong of me to assume that you would enjoy that as Ner-”

Solas cringes.

“I'm going to stop talking now,” Evelyn sighs.

“A wise move,” Solas teases despite the awkwardness that the almost mention of the other elf has brought about. After a moment of hesitation at his jibe, she places her palms on his shoulder blades and begins once again. Eventually, she slides her hands down the back of his ribs, and the light touch of her fingertips trailing down his skin makes him inhale sharply through his nose.

“ _No_ ,” Evelyn says in disbelief.

“No what?” Solas asks as he tries not to wiggle out of her grasp when she trails her fingertips down his sides. He presses his elbows in to his sides to stop her hands from moving any which way.

“You're ticklish,” Evelyn states.

“Not at all, your fingers are merely cold,” Solas says as nonchalantly as he can despite the fact that he is indeed ticklish. He had not been touched by another for so long that he had forgotten that he was. Evelyn laughs and scurries around to sit in front of him. Her eyes are sparkling with mirth and her lips are pulled up at one side in a smirk that tells Solas she's not going to let this go.

“Yes, merely _cold_. Of course. Sorry, Solas, I should've warmed them up first,” Evelyn says as she holds up her palms. Small flames flicker across her skin, then disappear almost as quickly as they had appeared. Solas raises his brows and digs his elbows into his side harder.

“Evelyn, n-”

He's barely finished his second word before she's behind him again and her fingers are digging for purchase between his arms and his side. Solas snorts as her efforts prove futile. She huffs, then falls sideways onto the bedroll in defeat. Solas turns back to her with a triumphant grin.

“It is unlike you to give up so easily,” he says. She glares at him from her odd position against the blankets.

“I haven't given up, I'm just taking some time to re-evaluate my tactics,” she informs him as she rolls onto her back and places her palms underneath her head. Her new position pulls the hem of her tunic up to the bottom of her ribs.

Solas is a serious man – leisurely activities such as tickling another in a bedroll are not activities he would usually participate in, but her good mood has rubbed off on him and her newly exposed skin is too hard to resist.

After all, he's not above playing dirty.

Evelyn squeals in surprise when he turns back, gets up onto his knees at her side, and brings his fingers to her waist. She writhes beneath him; laughing and panting as he is relentless in his tickle assault.

“S-S-So- _Solas!_ ” Evelyn cries as she tries to swat him away. She's not trying very hard, however, and the way her smile reaches her eyes tells him that she likes this.

“Do you surrender?” It's a question Solas has asked many times, but not once in this particular context.

“N- _No!_ ” Evelyn stammers as she tries to sit up in an attempt to get the upper hand.

“Very well, then,” Solas shrugs, and captures both of her small wrists in one of his hands. He pins them above her head, and moves his free hand to her side again.

They both go completely still at the same time. His eyes roam from her stomach up to the hem line of her shirt which is sitting just below the swell of her breasts, then up to her flushed face. Her mouth is slightly parted, and she's staring at him with dark desire in her eyes. He frowns slightly as he observes the way her chest rises and falls quickly, and the way the pulse in her wrist is beating just as quickly beneath the hold that he has on her.

He swings a thigh over hers to straddle her. Evelyn lets out a quiet moan beneath him as she maintains eye contact. They're close now; faces only centimetres away from each other as he leans over her. Evelyn's eyes look almost black with desire, and her hopes are confirmed when she gently bucks her pelvis up against him.

“Solas,” she whispers, and it sounds like both a request and a warning wrapped up in a package that he very much wants to open, despite himself.

 _It is ill-advised to do this again_ , his mind growls at him.

“Touch me, please,” she begs as she lifts her hips beneath him again. Her mound presses against his cock through his breeches, and he automatically presses down to get whatever friction he can. Solas tells himself that it is purely physical; a beautiful woman beneath him is sure to elicit a primal reaction. Especially when she keeps rolling her hips shamelessly against him – it makes him want to settle between her thighs and devour her until he's ruined her for any other; shemlen or elf.

Solas moves the free hand that has been holding the curve of her waist down to her hip. Evelyn bites her lip as her eyes flutter shut. He can see the anticipation in the furrow of her brow and feel it in the slight arch of her back beneath him. Solas lets his fingers walk down to the waistband of her pyjama pants, where he lets his fingertips dip ever so slightly underneath the material. Evelyn's frown deepens as she lets out a whine, and her fingers curl into a tight fist above where he is restraining her. Right then, she's a slave to his touch and he holds her leash.

Solas did not expect the Inquisitor would enjoy submitting so much. Their first time together was rushed and charged with conflicting emotions, but now? Now her attention is solely on him and she wants with everything she is.

“You should not want this,” he tells her. Evelyn's eyes slowly open as she looks up at him.

“You keep telling me what I should and shouldn't want,” she mumbles.

“Maybe you should listen,” Solas retorts. She huffs through her nose.

“We've fucked once already, and the world didn't fall apart,” Evelyn says, and Solas' heart skips a beat as he thinks _if you only knew_.

“Well, no more than it already has, anyway,” she adds at his frown in an attempt to lighten his mood. It does not work.

“You shouldn't want this either, then,” Evelyn says after a brief moment of silence.

“And how do you know I want this?” Solas asks, as if there's a chance she can't feel his erection pressing against her abdomen. She shakes her head as best as she can.

“If you didn't want this, you would not be on top of me of your own volition. I'm also pretty sure that's not a knife in your pocket,” Evelyn informs him with a lopsided grin. He gives her a hard stare, but says nothing. Solas supposes she is right, though it pains him to admit. He'd been happy to live in denial, but she just keeps managing to get under his skin.

“Ah,” she says. Solas gives her a questioning look.

“I know what the problem is. You don't want to touch me first,” she mutters, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“That is not-” it sounds terrible when she puts it like that; like he thinks she's too dirty or undesirable to be touched.

“And what if I was to touch you first?” Evelyn asks. Solas drops his gaze to her neck as he contemplates her question, and she takes the moment of inattention to flip them so that she is on top of him.

“Would that please you, Solas?” she asks as she splays a hand across his bare chest.

 _Yes, yes it would please me_ , he thinks, but he cannot make his mouth move.

“Tell me to leave. Tell me you do not want me to touch you, and I will not,” she says as her nails dig into his skin ever so slightly. Solas stays silent. He cannot say it, so he moves his hands from the tent floor to her hips.

“That's what I thought,” Evelyn says with a smirk as she slowly leans down. Their lips are only millimetres away from meeting before the tent shakes. She's off him in a flash and sporting an expression so terrified that Solas is certain her agility in this situation is born from practice back in her Circle.

“Inquisitor? Are you awake?” Cassandra asks from outside the tent. Solas reaches for his shirt and pendant and quickly pulls them back on. He reaches for his furs and drapes them over himself in case he needs to leave the tent immediately. It would not do for the entire camp to see the evidence of his arousal, least of all Cassandra.

“Yes, I'm here. What is it?” Evelyn calls back as she adjusts her tunic into a less revealing form.

“A scout has been murdered by a red templar shadow,” Cassandra says grimly. Evelyn winces as she rifles through the mess of blankets in an attempt to find her own coat.

“Give me a moment to put on my coat and boots,” she calls to the Seeker as she casts a quick glance at Solas.

“I will wait,” Cassandra informs her. Once Evelyn pulls on her boots, she leans forward to unlace the tent without any further words. Solas tries to sit as close to the tent wall as possible in an effort to avoid detection by the Seeker, but Evelyn pulls the tent flaps back so wide that he should not have bothered.

“The other scouts are quite upset. They-” Cassandra pauses and both of her thin eyebrows raise when she catches a brief glimpse of Solas before Evelyn fully exits the tent and lets the tent flaps fall back to obscure the view of the tent's interior.

“Yes? They what?” Solas hears Evelyn ask in an obviously irritated tone. Cassandra clears her throat.

“They saw it happen. This is the first tour of duty for most of them. I believe it would comfort them to hear your condolences.”

Their voices fade the further they move away from the tent until it is just Solas left on his own.

He cannot push the image of her pinned and pleading beneath him from his mind. In fact, it's so vivid and indulgent that he forgets the cry for help that he had witnessed in his slumber until they return to Skyhold.

–

Solas raises an eyebrow when he hears the shouting coming from the top level of the rotunda. He raises the other to join it when he realises _who_ is yelling.

“You _knew!_ ” Evelyn shrieks. He is unable to hear Leliana's calm reply.

“Don't- I'm supposed to know about these things, even if they were just doubts!”

The entire three levels fall completely silent in hope of hearing the argument when they realise it's the Inquisitor who is yelling at the spy master.

“How was I to know? I had my suspicions that he was not who he claimed to be, yet I was unable to find any proof. What would you have me do?” Leliana's voice is raised, but the woman is still relatively calm. Ah. Solas knows what this is about – Leliana had already been around in the previous hour to inform him about the situation with Blackwall and to ask if Solas had any idea as to the man's true identity before it was revealed. Well, asking was not the correct word – it had felt more like an interrogation.

“I- You- _Ugh!_ ” Evelyn's frustrated growl echoes throughout the tower, then her footsteps as she stomps down the stairs.

Evelyn had been inordinately moody the entire time they were in Emprise Du Lion, and her foul mood had not dissipated in the time it took to journey back to Skyhold after they had set out to find two Grey Warden artefacts for Blackwall the day that they had... spent the morning together in Solas' tent. She had barely spoken to him, too; he'd tried to make conversation with her in the caravan on the way back to Skyhold, yet she had just grunted or ignored him completely.

Solas doesn't look up from his book when she storms through the rotunda and out to the main hall. It comforts him to see that she is not angry with him, at least – the entirety of Skyhold seems to be bearing the brunt of her mysterious anger also.

He rises from his chair with plans to prepare a pack of supplies to take with him when he travels to the Exalted Plains to help his friend – Evelyn would no doubt be travelling to Val Royeux to deal with 'Blackwall' – but said plans are foiled when Evelyn stomps back into the rotunda.

“I need you ready to leave for Val Royeux within the hour,” she demands, before promptly storming back out again.

–

Evelyn's mood only seemed to darken over the following days. By the time they got to Val Royeux, her face was practically set into a permanent snarl. She'd brought Cole and Dorian along as well, and even they had hardly said a word in fear of having to endure her wrath. When they where shown to the quarters that Josephine had arranged for them, they all breathed a sigh of relief when Evelyn left to speak with Blackwall at the prison.

“She is not happy,” Cole states needlessly. Dorian rolls his eyes as he moves into the small kitchen area to find something to snack on. Solas' stomach rumbles at the prospect of food.

“Yes, we gathered that,” Dorian says as he pulls a jar of salted nuts from a shelf and pries open the lid. The necromancer swears in Tevene when the ridged lid cuts the palm of his hand. Cole watches in concern for a moment before he turns to Solas.

“You must make her happy again. It _has_ to be you,” the spirit-boy tells him with wide eyes.

“I do not know how to remedy such a mood,” Solas replies as he sets his staff against the coat rack.

“Yes, you do. You must touch her,” Cole says. Dorian gags on a peanut, then turns back to the jar in an attempt to look like he had not heard what he just heard.

“Right. I'm out. Cole, would you do me the honour of being my room mate for the evening? I do believe it's time you learnt how to play Wicked Grace properly!” Dorian gives Cole a dazzling smile, which is unneeded; the boy would do just about anything if asked nicely.

Solas shoots the other mage a needling glare. The quarters that Josephine had procured for them were semi-attached to some noblewoman's house (she was out of town, but had made the rooms available for use due to her support of the Inquisition), and featured two bedrooms that sported one double bed in each. He was hoping to bunk with Cole – the boy hardly slept, and he did not question when Solas didn't, either.

“Yes!” Cole exclaims happily as he follows Dorian down the candlelit hall to their room. Dorian turns to give Solas a wink, and Solas' lip curls up in disgust.

So much for avoiding temptation.

–

It's very late into the evening by the time Evelyn returns. Solas has stayed up in the living area – sprawled out with a book that he hasn't really been reading as he waits for her. When she sees him in the dim candlelight, she jumps.

“Oh! I didn't see you there,” she says as she places a hand over her racing heart. Solas knows his eyes can be quite frightening in the darkness when one is not expecting them.

“I apologise. I did not mean to startle you,” Solas tells her as he places his book down on the sofa beside him and sits up straight. Evelyn nods, then hangs her light coat up on the rack before strolling over to the kitchen.

“Is there anything good to eat in here?” She mumbles half to herself and half to Solas as she opens and closes numerous cupboards. She sighs when she sees nothing but sacks of flour, yeast, and sugar.

“Great. That's just great. I really wanted to bake my own bread at half two in the morning,” Evelyn mutters as she leans back against the counter and runs a hand through her hair.

“I am sure that the night markets would have something to your taste,” Solas suggests. Due to the high number of tourists visiting the Summer Bazaar and the fact that it's a weekend, stalls stay open almost twenty four hours to accommodate the drunken folk returning from plays and other leisurely activities.

Evelyn frowns at him as she taps a finger against her chin.

“Hmmm. Are you hungry? I don't think I can be bothered going alone,” she says. Solas considers her proposition for a moment before nodding and reaching for his boots.

–

Their bellies are full with frilly cakes and macarons when they decide to saunter lazily back to their temporary quarters. Evelyn's mood had seemed to improve greatly after her first two cannolis, and Solas was grateful. It was unsettling being around her when she was cross. Now, he thinks she has simmered down enough for him to ask her for help with his spirit friend. Evelyn pipes up just as he is about to speak.

“I guess you want to hear about what happened with Bla... Rainier,” she says when they've almost reached the estate.

“If you are of a mind to tell it,” Solas replies. There is nothing that Evelyn could tell him that he could not see for himself in the Fade later, but she looks like she wants to get it out, and get it out she does; they're undressing for bed by the time she takes a breath.

“And what of his fate?” Solas asks as he neatly sets his boots at the end of the bed. Evelyn hadn't questioned sharing a room with him – she had merely followed him into it and began undressing of her own accord. He's unsure if it's a good or a bad thing.

“I'm... I'm going to get him out. I'll have Leliana get him out, somehow,” she says as she peels back the luxurious quilt cover and slips into it. The excessive amount of silken pillows stacked behind her looks comical against her small frame.

“You are decided, then?” Solas inquires curiously as he shrugs off his tunic and folds it over a chair beside the bed.

“Yes,” Evelyn replies immediately. Solas glances over his bare shoulder at her.

“You came to that decision rather quickly,” he states. She sighs.

“Alright, Solas, what would you have done?” Evelyn asks as she settles back into the pillows. They mould around her; almost engulfing her the more she leans back.

“It is not for me to decide,” Solas shrugs as he gets into bed beside her.

“Do you think he deserves punishment?” Evelyn asks as she moves onto her side to face him. Solas inhales deeply, then exhales. He does not think this conversation is going to end well.

“You do not, and that is all that matters,” Solas says diplomatically. Evelyn rolls her eyes.

“Don't go all Josephine on me. I can tell that you're not happy with my choice. Do you not believe that he deserves a second chance?” Solas twists his own body to face her.

“I believe that people need to be held accountable for their actions. What he did was heinous, regardless of whether or not he was fighting in a war,” Solas tells her. Evelyn's brows pinch together slightly.

“Are we not in a war now? We have also done things that one may consider heinous. It is not only he who is a killer,” Evelyn counters.

“Yes, but we kill out of necessity; for the greater good and for our safety. For Thedas' safety. There was nothing necessary about the slaughter of children,” Solas explains. Evelyn exhales heavily as she runs her fingers through her hair.

“Have we not killed mages who were just barely teenagers? Could we not have saved them if we had tried harder?”

Solas shakes his head.

“No. We have encountered many who were too far gone. There is no coming back from possession that deep or Corypheus' hold.” Solas thinks that the two are much the same, anyway.

Evelyn ponders his response for a few moments.

“So it's the context that matters?” She finally asks.

“If you want to simplify it like that, then yes, I suppose,” Solas huffs. He had not expected to have a conversation about morals so late in the evening. It drains him.

“What if it were I who slaughtered an innocent family? Say that Erimond had a wife and children who had no idea what he was involved in, but I killed them anyway after I had killed him. What would be your ideal outcome in regards to punishment?” Evelyn asks. Solas shakes his head again. There is no use for what-ifs and what-could-have-beens.

“There is no point in asking me to consider a hypothetical situation,” Solas tells her.

“Well, humour me then. What would you consider an appropriate punishment for this hypothetical situation?”

Solas gives her a hard stare.

“I am not having this conversation, Evelyn. You have made your decision, and I will accept it,” Solas says in his best attempt to end the conversation that's beginning to sound suspiciously like an argument the more their voices increase in volume.

“Have you never made a mistake that you wish you could atone for? One that you wish someone would be willing to take your hand and tell you they forgive you for?” Evelyn continues. Solas blinks slowly as his temples begin to throb. _Yes_. He has made many. He's made more than the number of years that she has been alive.

“Of course. Haven't you?” He questions. Evelyn nods.

“Yes. We all have, and we have all tried to make up for it. Look at Varric; he's still wracked with guilt thinking that if he told Cassandra where Hawke was, there might not have even needed to be an Inquisition in the first place.”

Solas doubted that very much.

“Evelyn, where are you going with this?” Solas asks. Exhaustion has hit him hard, and he's ready for peace and quiet.

“What if it were I in Rainier's position? Would you show me mercy?” Evelyn inquires.

“Again, a hypothetical situation. I do not believe you would make such an ill choice,” Solas points out. Evelyn huffs in frustration.

“I would have mercy on you, should you do something terrible,” she tells him. Solas stares at her for a moment; the conviction in her words had completely thrown him. Would she still feel the same when things had come to pass?

“As I would you,” Solas admits. He would; he'd show her as much mercy as he could. She did not ask for any of this to be put onto her shoulders. It was a big weight for little shoulders to carry.

“Well, good,” Evelyn says as she turns to the candle on the bedside table to blow it out. Evelyn settles into the bed, and Solas does the same when he thinks there will be no more questioning about hypotheticals. She fidgets and rolls around often, and her bare legs brush against his more than once. Were he not so tired and unsettled by her questions, his thoughts may have drifted towards finishing what was started in the Emprise Du Lion.

Eventually, the silence pulls them both into much needed sleep.

–

He dreams about the spirit again. This time, he is certain of it's location.

“Evelyn?” Solas says as he knocks on the bedroom door. He had woken much earlier than her, and had left to procure something for breakfast from the markets. He'd managed to score a giant fruit basket that Dorian had shown much interest in, and he was certain that most of it would be gone if Evelyn did not come to take her share as soon as possible.

“Come in,” her muffled voice calls back. Solas enters to find the bottom half of her body sticking out from under the bed. She's wearing only underwear, and Solas doesn't know whether to laugh or look away at the unexpected sight.

“I'll be ready to leave for Skyhold in a minute, I just can't find my-” Evelyn's sentence dissolves into expletives as she bangs her head against the slats of the bed's frame. Solas gets onto his knees on the other side of the giant bed and peers underneath. He can just make out one side of Evelyn's face through the wooden storage crates that are piled up beneath the bed.

“What are you looking for?” He asks as he dips his head lower in an attempt to catch sight of anything that might belong to her.

“My ring. I took it off to... I took it off, and I dropped it and it rolled somewhere,” she replies as she moves a crate to the side. It brings up a cloud of dust, and they both cough as it finds their way into their nostrils.

“Ugh!” Evelyn grunts as she squeezes her eyes shut until the dust settles.

“What does it look like?” Solas asks. Evelyn wears many rings; at least three on each hand.

“It's just a plain silver band. A thin one,” she tells him as she shimmies further forward.

“You're sure it went under here?” Solas asks as he moves another crate; gently, so as not to be assaulted by any more dust clouds.

“No, Solas. I don't know where it went, that's why I'm looking!” Evelyn replies sarcastically. Solas gives her a stern look before standing up.

“Where are you going?” Evelyn asks.

“Stand up. I know a spell,” Solas informs her. He mutters the words as she scrambles to her feet. By the time she has straightened, her ring is sitting in the middle of the bed. She leans forward to snatch it away, and Solas catches sight of the perfect lines down her forearms. When she jams the ring back onto one of her fingers, they disappear.

Solas raises an eyebrow – half at the fact that she did not know such a spell herself, and half at the evidence of her use of blood magic on her arms. He is not surprised, however, at her ring's enchantment.

“Thank you,” she tells him as she reaches for a shirt from the neatly set out pile of clothing at the end of the bed.

“Of course,” Solas says as he dips his head. He doesn't realise he is staring at her whilst she dresses until she speaks.

“Usually people are more interested in seeing other people _un_ dress,” she teases; even though her own cheeks are flushed self-conscious shade of pink.

“I did not mean to stare,” Solas tells her truthfully. She smirks at him, but says nothing further as she turns her back to him to sit on the bed so she can lace up her boots.

“You're loitering. What is it?” She asks as she gives him a quick glance over her shoulder.

 _Loitering?_ He's not... well, he supposes that he is.

“I... I need to ask you for a favour. It is short notice, however it is something I believe to be urgent,” Solas says. Evelyn twists at the middle to look at him as best as she can.

“Oh?”

–

When he has freed his friend and put an end to the insufferably stupid mages that abused it, he turns to Evelyn. Her gaze lingers on the burning bodies in front of him for a moment before she slowly meets his eyes. He's panting; the anger he felt at the perversion and loss of his friend and the adrenaline from killing the mages making his heart beat like a pounding war drum even now that it is over.

Evelyn does not look away from the carnage before her.

“They deserved it,” she says, as if she's trying to convince herself as much as she is trying to convince him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I love Solas, a lot of the things he says in game make him sound like a bit of a hypocrite, so I tried to place that into the conversation about Blackwall.   
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you're enjoying it :)


End file.
